Excerpts and Additions to A Plantation Owner’s Diary I. February 1709 I rose at 5 o’clock this morning and read a chapter in Hebrew and 200 verses in Homer’s Odyssey. […]
There were also retired old farmers and their white-haired wives watching, chewing hot dogs and looking at me like I was something grave, offensive to all the hard work they’d known growing up. However, I felt like something meaningless, insubstantial.
I want to know hunger. I want to be smaller.
Boys in the Snow by Samantha Claire Updegrave A thick snow spreads across the back yard. We play flag football, but really it’s the teenagers who play. I am seven, […]
Start with the lowly zero, the number you’ve always thought of as nothing.
Maybe in the Fall By Sue Repko It was July and I worried over the tomato blossoms: the Early Girls, Sweet 100s, and Mr. Stripeys, an heirloom. Then there were […]
The sudden intimacy of your questions was unnerving, without boundaries, even. I went inside without answering.
The eleven pieces that you will read over the next week represent a panoply of topics, opinions, cultural backgrounds, and, simply put, stories.
That paperweight breaks my heart, because I identify with it—I feel like a blue flower immobilized in heavy glass.
I try to write something new at least 3 to 5 times a week, and I tell myself that it doesn’t have to be good.