by Michelle Cacho-Negrete Lately I spend time thinking about things that have vanished and I’m slipping into the past after visiting New York, still home despite my forty years in Maine. The little Manhattan piano bar up two flight of stairs whose cool jazz thrilled us. The White Castle in Queens, when we still ate
by Mark Blickley The title of this short memoir, Querencia, is a bullfighting term that describes the spot in the ring where a bull repeatedly returns. The more threatened a bull feels, the more often he returns to his spot. It’s this predictability that allows the matador to more easily kill him. I recently watched
by Tanya Bellehumeur-Allatt On the last day of moose season, Sylvaine’s father came scowling into the kitchen. He kicked a chair and threw his buffalo plaid jacket onto the upturned legs. “In the woods since five and nothing to show for it.” Twelve-year-old Sylvaine stepped away from the toaster to let him retrieve his coffee
by Guinotte Wise Warning: I’ll tell you right up front, I booby-trapped this rather meandering essay with a silly Broadway tune that, once absorbed into your already crowded headspace, will remain there to annoy you for a long, long time. Maybe always. I still haven’t gotten rid of it. When I wrote this piece, I
by Alan Swyer There are words and phrases so familiar, it’s easy to believe they’ve been around forever. Though the term Soul Music feels that way, in truth its genesis actually owes to one specific person: a singer named Solomon Burke. In the pre-Amazon, pre-download days of actual record stores, music was divided into categories:
by Nina Kossman In one of my classes at Hunter, I meet a young fellow who tells me he’s a New Zealander. He also tells me about two things he has—a motorcycle and a great job. The great job is watering plants in rich people’s homes only two hours a week, and when I hear