essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
these are the tears that we cannot shed
as we comment on the beauty of the glen and
how wonderful it must have been to live in such a place.
Wandering the aisles of my neighborhood supermarket, the kind of place Don DeLillo once wrote evoked “a sense of replenishment … and fullness of being,” I tread cautiously out of suspicion and respect for the potential “airborne toxic event” that is the coronavirus pandemic. As the world continues to pass milestones of Covid infections, I…
the cake is made of Walthamstow
a dense and glutinous Walthamstow
we are going to make Walthamstow
a Titanic success for Walthamstow
Kentucky governor Happy Chandler once said Kentuckians are always either coming home or thinking about coming home. On the day that tornadoes devastated my home state, I was longing to be home. It was December 11, 2021, and I woke up in a New York City hotel room to the news that tornadoes had ripped…
Through this shared language, seen in the celebration of Shabbat at our round dinner table, we create a “home”, a space of belonging, for a culture that has frequently been forcefully ripped from its physical roots.
paring knife, won’t use it to make
the pierogi. The potato goes
soft in the microwave,
the onion falls apart
and fries itself.
I wanted you so much
I started making things up
He studies me for a second before facing the road again, his jaw set. My breath is caught in my throat. I clear it, arranging my thoughts. It was just an outburst, a loss of patience: I am safe.
“We can’t take it all,” her brother had said, tossing memories in a bin bag like kittens for drowning.
Bright rays reflect, shape, shake her portrait on the water skin
and it’s broken, burnt, soon gone.
Get some hens
dig up the garden
sow and plant.
From the yew-dark wool you pulled
over my eyeball,
knit one, maul one,
you made a beam
Porridge 