Hania grew up in a southwest Detroit neighborhood where most people understood English well enough to follow radio broadcasts of Joe Louis fights and fireside chats. But they were far more comfortable conversing in Polish. It was the language of… Continue Reading
Samantha etched the white oak onto her hand and arm: her wrist and forearm the trunk, her fingers the branches, fingertips the leaves, and on her palm the date and our initials. She wrote our first kiss inside her upper… Continue Reading
Since the most recent late-term miscarriage, I could see Janet falling once again into depression and the twilight world she entered when under stress and uncertainty. And she was frightened, clearly frightened, about what she would learn at the forthcoming… Continue Reading
It’s gritty at the shore, gets between the toes. The lake waits, the skin of it blistering under a low-slung sun that makes mirrors of flat pebbles, the fastenings on bikinis, metal bottle tops. You think you see the sun’s… Continue Reading
The playwright Martin Simon is sitting outside an Indian restaurant with a laptop and beer when James, the director, walks up. Martin continues typing — he’s on a roll, finally making sense of the scene he’s been struggling with all… Continue Reading