Image Credit: “Red Dresses” by Elena Filatov Red is my favourite colour. I have heard it said that red is a masculine colour, a patriarchal colour; the colour of…
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There are so many ways to get it wrong, to misread, to come to the pages we assign you—and fail. Maybe you see the same story, one of challenge and…
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Image Credit: James Cochran Monday morning we were up at the big rock we call Everest, with all the girl dolls, gathering. My older daughter, Elsie, was explaining why…
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Image Credit: Camile Corot, A Woman Reading It’s May 10, 2019, and it’s a sweltering evening in middle Georgia—specifically Milledgeville, Georgia—home of Flannery O’Connor (a Georgia College and State…
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As a teacher, I read a lot about teaching, and that’s why I know that much of the best writing about teaching begins, “I have made a terrible mistake.” For…
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On the radio last week, I heard Frank Sinatra sing “It Was a Very Good Year.” Sinatra made this Ervin Drake song his own and made it famous, winning with…
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Image Credit: Albert Anker It was the rhythms of words that I loved most as a child. Undeniably delighted at the prospect of having someone else read to me,…
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if i told you this story, how culturally illiterate would you think i am? * panic had come spurting out and i was looking for a plug to…
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There are so many ways to tell a story about desperation, and I have considered them all. I keep coming back to the same dark room in an eighth-floor Chicago…
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Markham and I were in the hot tub the other day talking about spirituality, nature and art, how these things are what people in the twenty-first century want more than…
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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…
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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 grandmother, my mother, myself—we are a daisy chain of readers, a coil of translators, a broken chain of writers. My grandmother, Margherita, would pounce on the romances published serially…
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On Cicadas, Silence, and Japanese Poetry Home My childhood memories of summer are also accompanied by the drone of a cicada, my Southern Maryland home shared with roughly…
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