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…
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“You’re a mother now,” the anesthesiologist with the long blonde hair says as I’m wheeled to recovery. Mother. I am a Mother now? Five days before I am a mother,…
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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…
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The fog is thicker as we drop in elevation. I sit down on the snow to fix her goggles; I admire her: rosy lips, white-blond hair coming out from under…
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Jean Rhys, 1975 by Bill Brandt When I was younger and more carefree, I really admired the flâneurs of Paris. Baudelaire, Baldwin, Sontag, Rilke. What I loved about these…
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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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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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The summer I turned fourteen, my best friend Katie was in love with the chiseled lifeguard who presided over her community pool from his chair high up in the heavens.…
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When I was ten years old I tried to teach myself to speak and write Cantonese, using an old Chinese schoolbook I had found in the closet. At that age,…
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I have a bad habit that I’m not going to fix. When I drop popcorn on my lap, I eat it, as though my folded knees are a continuation of…
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(Far out in the ocean the water is as blue as the petals of the loveliest cornflower, and as clear as the purest glass.) The man and his mermaid stand…
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Photo Credit: Nikki Mumolo 15 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days: waking We do side jobs to make daycare & rent like your chicken gig at the island music…
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In a shaft of morning light, my daughter discovers an eddy of dust motes. Those she says, pointing to what without the sun would be unseen. She runs through them…
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At the beginning of the summer I made a pact with my nine-year-old son: We would spend his non-camp days hiking, searching for waterfalls hidden in the woods and parks…
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