You are seven years old and have just gotten the training wheels removed from your pink huffy bicycle. […]
essays
It’s early morning and the sound of heavy rain fills my room. The drumming on the tin roof […]
Whenever I imagine my father, he’s almost naked. For three years after my parents divorced, I spent every […]
My eyes are pointed at the mat because a large man has his hands cupped behind my head. […]
I don’t fall so much these days. That’s partly because I’m aware of the likelihood of falling, so […]
It was hot that day and the dirt was so dry it crunched under the soles of my […]
“Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, […]
I found a snapshot of my father taken before I was born, a black-and-white print on foxed paper […]
I didn’t think I would miss Grandmother at all. She had grown distant with time, developing an impenetrable […]
You could barely move, in fin-de-siècle Mitteleuropa, without encountering something mystical, transcendental, or at least a bit occultish. […]