My sister slices the pie, her lips drawn together in a tight purse, the disapproving grimace of a person performing an unfamiliar task. We sit at the dining room table. I look because I can’t stop myself from staring over… Continue Reading
Mom always told me my blackberry pie tasted like hers. We’d both be bent at the waist, shoulders hunched, sturdily pushing rolling pins through flour-coated dough in the tiny kitchen. Heat would pool at the back of my neck and… Continue Reading
Brother Joseph never told anyone that he heard the voice of God when he was fifteen. He wasn’t really sure if something had gone wrong, or if the first visit was just a prelim, and God was waiting for him… Continue Reading