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Articles
Stones
We carry our small griefs like stones in pockets.We rub them smooth with worry, thumb their coldsolidity, and palm their petty weight.At work, in restaurants, with husbands or with...
The Long Room
Alive in the long, deep room of the soul, I feel, at 41, absurdly old, a burnt-out heap of blackened greenwood on the grate. And this despite the steady...
Singing to the Penguins at the Memphis Zoo
Even before we passed the bears (who sat Like mourners in a church, their great brown paws Still and flat across their knees), we heard her sing, A high,...
