When we invited contributions for this issue we said that our theme was “the inter-relationship or overlap of autobiography, biography, and fiction.” We asked potential contributors to “think of the three genres as forming a triangle. We are looking for prose writing — fiction, essay, memoir, journal, etc. — that falls within this area.” We’ve…
It was one of those pearl-soft days when the sky drifts in broken ridges of gray. I was on my way up the coast, planning to winter over in one of the waterfront towns on the eastern shore of Vancouver Island. It was mid-November. I had been out since early spring. I hoped to find…
She walks the corridor, trailing her wedding dress. There's no bun in the oven, no love letter expiring on the coffee table, nothing sticky between her fingers. All afternoon she watched them curry the horses, the whish, seeing the oiled hide shiver under her skirt. No one imagines the safety pin in her bra strap….
Gropius and I came to America in 1937 from England. We had been in London on a Leave of Absence permit from the German government and it was by no means certain that we would be allowed to return to claim our belongings, which were at the time in Berlin in care of my sister….
The woman across the street bends over to pull a weed from her front steps. I set a fresh cup of coffee on the Help Wanted section and watch from my second-story kitchen window. She is married to a surgeon. It's a two-Mercedes family. She and the surgeon have two daughters. One married a lawyer…
You might see a thin air in early April part the long grass, bleached and laid back, to breathe on your nape, the backs of your hands. It might smell like a cellar, full of coffins and canning. You would not name it, since all names become one in that time, and would you speak…
For Camille Our last fledgling launched into a churning flock of college freshpersons! Independence Day in September. Once we blow old feathers out of the house, Darling, think of all we can do: redecorate, travel, talk and make love without interruption, stoke bonfires with junk mail, find new jobs. Outside the car window, soybean fields…
Remember how you took me down to the dock in Michigan one night to show me stars, your latest hobby: the air was like ink, blue-black, and shadowless. The lamplight that we carried made the narrow boards bob at our feet, the small water warbling on either side. With the light out, lying on our…
1 Edges: as a ditch defending a field, a rim of water spelling out an island. 2 Close-up: tall blades of grass, two seed stalks (stripped umbrella ribs) arrange a landscape. Foreground, the fringed black fungus splits, asymetrical as love, its three-inch mandala a diagram on black. Across the black wound, widenings uncover something like…
No products in the cart.