The day of the funeral, it fails to rain. It would be easier to bear if the sky wept with us. Instead, sunlight and warmth touch every corner of our mountains, flicker on every tree leaf, fill each breeze. A… Continue Reading
“You didn’t have to come with me, Sam. I’m okay.” Sam handed me the challah I’d made the day before, wrapped in a cloth. He’d always scared me a little bit, tall and athletic and proud. He looked like the… Continue Reading
Down McLaren, right on First. Argh, I know this friggin’ bus route off by heart. Haunt a bus, they said; it’ll be fun, they said. Sure, it’s fun for late-night-thrills but the monotony is going to make me lose it.… Continue Reading
Once a month my father came home with someone else’s luggage. He purchased them for five dollars from the Amtrak station, these unclaimed parcels left by wayward travelers. The station sold them as a way of making a little extra… Continue Reading
He sits down next to me at the picnic table, his back against the red-and-white checkered tabletop, his long legs extending out on the grass. He turns to me and smiles the friendly smile of a man who is comfortable… Continue Reading
Mikey sits in the backseat of his father’s T-Bird, smoking a joint. His mohawk, the near-white color of lime sorbet, glows orange briefly in the dark. Earlier today Mikey shoved an older boy up against a locker so hard that… Continue Reading
After the sun goes down, Mummy and I sit in the dark. I brush my hair, then my dolly’s, then mummy’s, slicing through the strands with my comb. When I hear Daddy’s key in the lock, I know it’s time… Continue Reading
When I was 4 years old, my dad said, “Your grandfather is a bird.”Imagine my surprise. He pointed out our kitchen window to the dark specks in our backyard and said, “Like a crow, or a magpie.” I didn’t understand… Continue Reading
One Wednesday morning in the middle of March, Isaac Thomas arrived at his father’s house to find the elderly poet recumbent on the attic staircase, holding onto a Christmas tree. The tree, which Isaac recognized from his childhood, lay on… Continue Reading
“But Da, I don’t wanna this week.” “Ye have to. It’s Sunday.” “I don’t feel well.” “Don’t be daft. Yer goin, John Paul. Ye need to be there.’’ “It’s J… P,” I snapped back. John Paul is for the Pope… Continue Reading