by Julene Waffle Sometimes I embrace the stillness of winter, let it settle into the threads of my veins, twist itself into the locks of my hair, but tonight I lock it away in the drawer where I keep my lacy things and old letters that belong only to me. I knuckle down and sing
by Elizabeth Morse Monica and Joyce set out for mountains in a beat-up SUV. Anytime is a good time for this much-loved excursion. The radio plays songs from years ago, as though time has been sliced open. They talk, and drink bottled water. Monica pulls back her hair, flicking the fastener once, twice. Their words
by Martin Willitts Jr My mother’s age-ravaged memory before she passed away. What a strange phrase, “passed away,” as if floating off. How odd to be less mentioned over time. Winds come; winds go. Winds blow the moon away. Winds blow the yellow off the finches, scatters leaves, memory, sorrow blows them all into a
by Kimmo Rosenthal It is interesting that upon tracing the etymology of the word essay to its roots, we come across the Latin word exagium, which means a weighing. The idea of an essay as a weighing of sorts is not surprising. In her illuminating essay on the current proliferation of “personal” as opposed to
by Geer Austin Goodbye My name is Jérôme, and I live near the Avenue du Président Kennedy, you said. Your hair was green so I asked you to stay. Yeah but I got a ticket to fly, you said. We were in my apartment on Mulberry Street, watching hipsters clomp up the block. A tricolored
by Jen Stein Consider that the board is well mapped. In a place where two rivers meet, there is a park with oaks arching overhead, dappled sunlight on a riverbank, a bench, it is June, it is dusk. A broken swing with a wind-driven creak, rhythmic and slow as a sleeping heart. I am looking
Review by Rhina P. Espaillat This recent work by poet Richard Levine is divided into three sections with titles that refer to very different aspects of the human lot: “The Law of Blood and Death,” “The Law of Peace, Work, and Health,” and “The Law of Endangered Environments, Viruses, and Hope.” As titles those are
by Alan Swyer The best thing about being part of Ray Charles’ inner circle – other than spending time with the man justly called “The Genius” – was meeting so many people who were, or at one time or another had been, part of his world. Some, like Solomon Burke, Mable John, and Billy Osborne,
by Alice Lowe There was a stretch of time when I opened each week’s New Yorker magazine to the “Goings On About Town” pages to plan imaginary weekend getaways. I would choose a play, opera, or concert for each night of my stay. Mornings were earmarked for long walks around the city, followed by museum
by Marc Alan Di Martino My first week in New York I spotted Thurston Moore sauntering out of a bakery on Spring St. Artists had once flocked to SoHo in retreat from rent hikes, but by then you couldn’t live there without a trust fund. He nearly ran me down, or so the memory has