We rode the Tube to the West Kensington stop and got off to visit my old friend there, who lives across the road from her ex. We took the elevator to the top floor and when we got out she… Read More ›
Memoir
Nothing perfect or terrible
We drove down to London from Stratford mid-January, found our place, parked, confirmed the length of our stay with the manager who warned the time would go by fast, which was fine by me: we’d been out of our house… Read More ›
A message for a Golem one morning
Clouds spun out in pillowy strands, like cotton candy. The frozen leaves on the rhododendrons collapsed in on themselves like umbrellas. They had a copy of The Corrections in the lending library on the dead end street so I nabbed… Read More ›
Why it’s hard getting rid of things we identify with
I couldn’t imagine getting rid of the African robes. Dawn’s on this kick now from a book where you categorically go through things to determine what brings you joy and if it doesn’t, you get rid of it. We’re putting… Read More ›
‘Time is on my side’
It was the first spring we were in our new house mom and John came to visit. I had some time off from work and it was only May, but the weather forecast was like summer, with everything in bloom,… Read More ›
The Stack
Unfinished table by IKEA, manual typewriter, one-bedroom apartment, the stack of pages sitting there as evidence, the same place I eat and drink. The answering machine, pictures of heroes on the wall. Rapping the keys until the bell goes off,… Read More ›
Sure
Seven years old, in the bathroom at the Jersey shore, I had to use the one in my grandparent’s room and there was my grand-dad’s reflection in the bathroom mirror, through a crack in the door. He was napping with… Read More ›
Chantez, chantez
Laurent told my mom he had to go to the car to get some things, and gestured for me to join. It was the kind of gesture that implied wrongdoing, a wink from across the table. We were in the… Read More ›
Mirrorball
Pat Dolan and his brother Damien lived up the street. Their dad Mr. Dolan was a cop, a huge cop: he filled the doorway when he stood. We sat on the front doorstep and spat. We had just learned how… Read More ›
Us
I was making my nest: a studio apartment at the base of Pill Hill in Seattle, basement floor. It looked onto a courtyard no one could access, and the top half of a parking lot. My bed was up on… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 