The man who is about to ask you to marry him grabs the check from the little tin tray and slides the three fortune cookies toward you.“All yours,” he says. You grin and he grins back. Three years together, and you have your rituals, your routines. When you have pizza, he . . .
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(Photo by Giacomo Sartori) (Earth Primer #9) I had grown accustomed to earthy alpine soils, with their scent of moss and sap. Then, without warning, I suddenly found myself dealing with the soils of a valley lined with the disciplined rows of apple orchards covering every wedge of the wavy hillsides, even . . .
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George Kalamaras collection What My Hound Dog Is Scenting Through the Sloughgrass Is a Way of Scenting Me is out now from Wolfson Press. George had a poem in our Summer 2017 issue. The debut novel, Coming Clean, by Beth Uznis Johnson was released this month from Regal House Publishing. Her essay, “Penance and Pandemic,” . . .
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(Photo: Jewish Voice for Peace) Affiliates and allies with Jewish Voice for Peace at the Statue of Liberty on Monday, November 6, 2023. This International Holocaust Remembrance Day will not be like any other. As we mark the seventy-ninth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz on January 27 and commemorate the six . . .
Read MoreOne must have a mind of winter . . . —Wallace Stevens Have a beer in cold weather—just seeHow it counterintuitivelyWarms the blood with cold fireAs the winter transpires.If you try one of these, you’ll agree. 1.Here’s a bottle-fermented delight,For ’tis Trappist and English bedightWith rich, flavorful maltsThat Tynt Meadow exaltsWith a sweetness and spice . . .
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As someone who has dealt with immense loss and lives with long-term grief, I cannot say I relish books exploring the topic. Five years after losing our twenty-four-year-old trans son, I am less triggered by storylines dealing with dying young, than I am bored by them. My grief, the steady rhythmic bassline . . .
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A Review of The Singularity by Balsam Karam, Translated from Swedish by Saskia Vogel (Feminist Press, January 2024) Split into three parts, all formally different, Balsam Karam, in The Singularity, writes a lyrical, moving, formally inventive narrative of motherhood in the wake of loss—of child, of home, of self. In the first part, a mother . . .
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Originially published on Amanda Gelender’s Medium Blog. As I write this, the wheels of genocide are turning. As I write this, I am preparing for Shabbat. When I see Gaza, I see my own people languishing in concentration camps. I see a world that has turned its back on us, letting us . . .
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She was considered beautiful in the eyes of the common man, but she believed her womanly seduction outweighed her beauty. Yet she would feel guilty as soon as she turned on her charm. First she would pretend she had done nothing wrong, but then she would be gripped by the cardinal sin . . .
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