Author: admin

My ancestors prayed their faithful hearts out in a little shul in the Steppes. Prayed to their god of gods in a language as old as the civilization they hoped their prayers might heal. And still it snowed. Snow over the roof and...

I wake long before dawn. How is it only bad habits grow old? Icy windows groan, and it is almost as cold inside as out. A few lights flicker on in this tiny town we once made prosper— small needs ministered by a cluster of shops...

We turn and walk away from the casket. We never thought it wise to gaze on the face of someone who is no longer there. There’s no stopping it now. The betrayal has passed as a fistful of coin from one woman’s hand to another....

Your duties were light, you were spoiled a little, but the holes in the soles of your shoes told me you were willing. Dark nights on watch for mornings that came and never soon enough. We’d break up the fire scatter the dirt and...

I clutched the stupid cotton gown that never closed he entered in a whoosh, his assistant hovering in his familiar khakis and suede shoes he checked me quickly listened and tapped squeezed and felt my breasts and under my arms...

A Sunday Outing, 1929 A photo tucked in an old album, a moment preserved in time, like an insect set in amber… a youth group outing, in the busy Hamburg harbor— quiet, sleepy, a summer Sunday afternoon. The girls with bobbed...

(Alice Driver, executed, November 1558) A fortnight before the unfortunate woman’s passing a defiant pair knelt on a bundle of kindling and prayed until bailiffs insisted they have done. Alice showed the same courage when they...

You are the unnecessary pillow I cram into a pillowcase. Who needs four pillows for one head? You are the head of cauliflower left too long in the refrigerator. Eventually it must be let go. You’re the egg I scramble, Cracked...

Morning Joe is a good place to start. Turn it on and listen to him describe politicians as men banging on their highchair trays. Bang on your highchair tray. A tantrum is in order when you’re spitting up blood, when they tell...

I come from Madagascar. My pedals burn with sunrise gold, blush with sunset’s crimson fold. My stem priming with heat of equator, in the sun’s glamour my pistils glow. I dwell in valleys deep and wide, greeting dawns and dusks...