The Spell
Every day when I pick up my four-year-old daughter from preschool she climbs into her back booster seat and says, Mom—–tell me your story. And almost every day I tell her: I dropped you off, I taught my class…
4 tygodnie temu
Hurry
We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store and the gas station and the green market and Hurry up honey, I say, hurry, as she runs along two or three steps behind me her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down. Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?…
4 tygodnie temu
My Dead Friends
I have begun, when I’m weary and can’t decide an answer to a bewildering question to ask my dead friends for their opinion and the answer is often immediate and clear. Should I take the job? Move to the city? Should I try to conceive a child in my middle age?…
4 tygodnie temu
After the Movie
My friend Michael and I are walking home arguing about the movie. He says that he believes a person can love someone and still be able to murder that person. I say, No, that’s not love. That’s attachment. Michael says, No, that’s love. You can love someone, then come to a day…
4 tygodnie temu
The Boy
My older brother is walking down the sidewalk into the suburban summer night: white T-shirt, blue jeans— to the field at the end of the street. Hangers Hideout the boys called it, an undeveloped plot, a pit overgrown with weeds, some old furniture thrown down there,…
4 tygodnie temu