The dove doesn’t explode in mid-air, it just looks like it does. The double back doors in my house are latticed with blinds, big glass panels providing windows to a…
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2021. My greatest weakness when writing crossword clues is a failure to recognize words’ common roots. This is neither very radical nor very horticultural of me, though I have only…
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* * * There is a little bird, I don’t remember the name of him, but he skims right over the surface of the ocean. It must be frightening out…
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* * * BIRDS Megan Heise Ever make mistakes in life? Let’s make them birds. Yeah, they’re birds now – Bob Ross Put a bird on it! – Portlandia …
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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…
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IVY HUONG NGUYEN was born and raised in Saigon, Vietnam, and immigrated to America with her family at the age of 10. She is currently…
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Image Credit: Carsten Lenz There are four tunnels on the drive between the house I grew up in and the house I live in now. Four hours of black…
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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…
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Image Credit: “Last One In” by Matthew Oliphant I’m sitting in my car, idling in front of the gated entrance to a storage facility in Fallbrook. It’s 11:30 PM.…
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Image Credit: National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, Australia Like most avid readers, I have long let Don Quixote, that seventeenth century tome of imaginary adventures, sit unread on my…
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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…
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Although you have never been to Iceland and have no immediate plans to visit, you’ve recently decided that it is in your best interest to learn to speak Icelandic. The…
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My husband died on a Tuesday morning. It was around eleven when I finished painting the first half of my bedroom ceiling and decided to take a break. I made…
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I didn’t see the physical mess: I smelled it. A noxious odor—a potion of blood and paint fit for the three witches of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Earlier that day, my brother…
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