It’s the apocalypse, and in its last death rattle, the illustrious Nassau Weekly decides to leave one more gift to humanity, to create the only remembrance of our time on earth, to cement an eternal legacy—to publish THE LAST LIST.
“My eyes darted between the two security cameras on the roof. Despite feeling cynical lately about the effectiveness of government, I had a feeling that these cameras were both working and monitored around the clock. I felt so patriotic.”
It stung to realize that I was less than what my family thought, and I began to feel an unbridgeable distance between us. I blamed myself, but I also blamed the God who my family had always promised would help me. I tried my best. Why am I failing?
The construction guys are wearing neon hoodies and eating grilled cheese sandwiches, Sprinkled across the lawn like lobster buoys — “Confetti thrown from heaven,” you’d call them When I was on the boat and couldn’t sleep. If I went back … Read More
This poem not about flowers just goes to show how far we’ve come since the days when people could practically not think without a daffodil, when in poetry a rose was not yet just a rose but always stood for … Read More
I was seventeen. A senior second semester saturated with drugs, alcohol and bad decisions written off as “youth” had ended in a hospital bed on prom night, and, subsequently, in daily, forced AA meetings. I’d thought I was on top of the world: going to an Ivy League school, surrounded by friends, graduating top of my class.
“Excuse me, do you have an extra cigarette?” I asked a woman outside New York Penn Station on my way home from Reunions in June. As I inhaled, the previous nine months began to transform from life to memory, things that were happening to things that had happened, becoming things that had happened to me rather than things I had made happen.