Marys of the Sea by Joanna C. Valente 90 Pages ELJ Editions, 2016 ISBN:978-1-942-00425-7 Marys of the Sea, by Joanna C. Valente, maps out a shape of womanhood, gender, and […]
Technically, she loved Moshe Ber. At least her eyes went swimmy when she thought of him or when anyone else said his name. He went to the boys’ school in […]
Lucky told me the seconds before you die count the most. Which is why I howled when they come for his body at sunrise, two fat men in a pickup, […]
In our new column, “In Conversation,” jmww invites two writers, preferably at different stages of their careers, to talk about their latest books, the path to publication, and the lessons […]
Past residents? Victims of the plague, a garrison of soldiers, and that bald hooker with the gold-studded tongue. There was also the defrocked priest chanting psalms during Holy Week.
If you stare at a man and don’t break eye contact, a grown one especially, it makes them nervous. There’s nothing a man can do to you for looking at him that way. Not in front of people.
“We should always have a goal of maintaining harmony.”
She was always in motion and yet she stayed within the same thirty-six rows of seats, holding still while landmarks rocketed by.
Bell brings together vast, apocalyptic worlds in some pieces and plumbs the depth of characters’ obsessions or anxieties in others.
Writing poetry in general is one way to make sense of it all, to break up what is vast and essentially unknowable, into smaller, more digestible pieces.