loss

* * * Aviary Raft, circa 1989 A portulent tuft sidling upward on dampened rocks, Tail and tucked primary bristling, stiffens; Greasy saline sweeps and splatters Penetrating barb and barbule…

It was just a pigeon. Sam found it on the doorstep, still warm despite the snow. It was covering the “L” on the welcome mat. “Dad” she said, wiping tears…

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…

1. Origins and distributions We hear birds at night. I imagine they are cardinals but Lou argues for sparrows. We know for sure they aren’t supposed to be here. But…

I.   They had all disappeared before I arrived. Death. Distance. Disconnection. And discontent. Mother said her mum jubilated when she conceived me. But earth had taken her in, folding…

My dog sees the gull before I do. She strains at the leash, pulling toward the shifting grey shape, which becomes a filthy bundle of feathers, which becomes an injured…

* * * Memory of a Bird And so we rage quietly. The coffee filter clutches ache, the coarse taste of it. Your glacial gait along the halls of half…

Image Credit: Brett Jordan via Unsplash   One Sunday evening, I tucked myself into bed earlier than usual with the intention of getting a long night’s rest before the busy…

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…

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…

In the months following Abbey’s overdose, I wrote about her endlessly. I made lists about things she loved (frozen yogurt, Pusheen, sunglasses), noted specific details I was afraid that I…

Tell me we’ll never get used to it. Richard Siken, 2005   The boy didn’t know what to do with sounds that entered his head and became something else. His…

Image: Author’s eldest child, Beatrice, three weeks before she died at 35 weeks in utero   James Dean died in his Porche Spyder 500, after a collision at the intersection of…

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…