If I held textbook posture, knelt bedside, I swore you’d come to [...]

My mother sits befuddled at her telephone, uncertain who she means to [...]

Ida Lewin (1906-1938) AlwaysWinter, Poland My mind grew quiet like a house [...]

Her mind, in its dying, grows into a version of who she [...]

There’s a beach in San Diego where you can drop your clothes [...]

i. Because old novels are always furnished — red velvet and larkspur. [...]

In rain, the smell of pine and old cement returns to me, [...]

“The voice is more than the body’s excursus, its way of going [...]