The boy – 7 – walks by the Brooklyn luncheonette and the jukebox plays The night is like a lovely tune beware my foolish heart With the years the melody returns And always out of nowhere A love affair begins and...Read More
Cumulus clouds drifted past a pale sun, a chilly day for swimming, but I couldn’t resist traveling to the lake for a good soaking. I yearned for the solace I’d find there. I invited my nine-year-old granddaughter, Annie, to join...Read More
Whenever we come home from shopping, each toting a large, thin-handled bag, my husband immediately removes the shirts and pants he’s bought, snips off the tags, slips the clothes onto hangers, and hangs them in the closet. I, on...Read More
I was only thirteen years old when separated from my family. My mother was hospitalized for several months, I don’t know why. Never told. As a result, I was forced to stay with my aunt Marie and uncle, Jerry. They lived in an...Read More
One summer night decades after I had begun the perilous job of raising my children, I was having dinner by the sea with two beloved friends. We were speaking, not of ourselves as parents, but about our own parents. Both my...Read More
A note on my wall, pinned there for years, reads Forgiveness and Compassion. The memo’s role varies from reminder to plea to demand. Two vague aspirations, neither seem up to the task; neither word fits my intent; however, at...Read More
I didn’t expect when I went to Antarctica that I would remember my love of the ocean, remember an early lover who was so in love with the sea that he remained frozen in childhood or that I would hear the siren call and become...Read More
After a mother is born inside of me, I ask the child of silence to guide me, little boy or girl candle bright in the darkness trembling with gratitude and his new feet an offering, her little hands reaching up to touch my face....Read More
According to some, it is only truly possible to understand literature when it is translated into a familiar language by contemporary authors familiar with one’s local culture. While others argue that regardless of whether...Read More
We drifted toward the dance floor in ones and twos. We found each other—brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, in-laws and cousins—in the midst of all the other happy people gathered for the wedding of Erin and James. We...Read More
Something inside the copy of Alexander of Macedon, A History interrupted the clean stack of bound leaves of the nearly new book. It still retained a remnant aroma of fresh print against a matte paper finish. The only indication...Read More
I unwittingly began life in the early days of September 1949, my parents subsequently celebrating my birth on May 8, 1950, some nine months later. Definitely, my mother’s pride and joy, I cannot recall much to be unhappy about...Read More
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