They collided on the Farmers Market at Clinton and Bailey streets in Buffalo, New York, on a sultry Saturday in August. She was forty-six, and outspoken. He was twenty-one, and given to few words. They both spotted the last basket… Continue Reading
“It’s left foot forward and two steps back.” Cecily looks at her feet. She’s six and a half — seven next Wednesday. Leo says you have to know your left from your right by the time you’re seven or you’ll… Continue Reading
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