Four days ago a butterfly splattered into the windshield of my not-so-eco-friendly car. No, this happened four years ago. We still lived in Georgia. The war was over but troops kept returning to the zone. Oil needed to be protected. The fat winged body that oozed yellow on my windshield must have counted thrice toward…
They seem out of character for him now. Those things he’d bought his bride of seven years: the colonial-style house built with luxuries of the day; the two Waterford crystal dishes, once home to tiny pillows of buttermint candies and burning Dunhill cigarettes; a parquet living room; a terra-cotta patio; and bottles of medication. After…
The Eve of the Exodus the days united the blood of grapes and milk at the seashore and became judge of the horned snake and royal dainties and the crown of a ravenous wolf charged the field and kissed the days of mourning and went up to the threshing floor of lamentation died and was…
I have looked for you since 1982. It rained the day before. The curbs filled with dirty, driven-through water, and overnight the water filled up with tiny tadpoles. The next day, I made a pole from a stick and tied a bit of string to it. I knelt beside the puddle in my Gloria Vanderbilt…