childhood

I don’t care about duck hunting but I like magazine subscriptions. I like organizing them on the bookshelf. Puddles, the kids magazine delivered once a month to my dad’s work…

* * * TW: Sexual Violence * * *   & my पक्षिन् : (while dying inside my chest, _______________they watched dreary North European winds) for Patrick Lawler   “Small quantities…

It was a mourning dove in the afternoon, and it was flying much faster than they do normally. A sunny afternoon too, rare in the Highlands summer, and that bird…

The photographic documentation of my life began a few weeks after I was born, and the photograph albums in my childhood home are evidence of my mother’s presence and obsession…

If I could start at the beginning, I would start with the blanket: blue with white polka dots. Or was it pink, with the edges so tattered you could stick…

WOVEN is an Entropy series and dedicated safe space for essays by persons who engage with #MeToo, sexual assault and harassment, and #DomesticViolence, as well as their intersections with mental…

The family lore is repeated over and over. It becomes so familiar memory mixes with imagination to fill in the spaces. My sister, Maria, loved too much. Here lies Mr.…

My dad was not the type to buy an animal on impulse. When I was in elementary school, his companion, which he dutifully let out to pee at increasingly narrow…

My seven-year-old lies on the fuzzy rug in her shared bedroom; the ball of her right foot is on top of her left and her arms stretch out in a…

There is a tree with a good bole on it in the side of the yard next to the drive. I can sit in it. Prop my feet up. Dangle…

Paintings by Miriam Feldman   According to Wikipedia, a jumper (person), in police and media parlance, is a person who plans to fall or jump from a potentially deadly height, sometimes…

My grandfather’s house stood on the corner of Beech Street in northeast Portland. The two-story home, shaded by tall and leafy trees, sat adjacent to a garage, a workspace filled…

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;  Petals on a wet, black bough. -Ezra Pound, “In a Station of the Metro” Dear Big Toe on my Left Foot,  …

There was nothing to do but climb. The turquoise sky was immeasurable above the yuyuga tree, slim branches swaying and bending with heavy fruit. At ten years old, waking life…