“This novel-in-stories traces the lives of multiple generations of characters from the early days of the Soviet Union up into the near-future, all interconnected by an obscure nineteenth-century painting.”
“Joanna Newsom and the New Weird America.” That is the title of the BBC web site’s feature on Miss Newsom, a singer and songwriter who’s our age and, like many of us, sounds much younger.
(1) My roommate stirs. Her alarm rings at 9 AM, and she hastily turns it off to avoid waking me. My half-waking dreams are all the possible ways the email I sent last night could be answered. They range from … Read More
Here’s how I saw De Quincey High then: stained bathroom walls; pregnant girls; boys with knives and guns and bandanas; teachers with fear so engrained that it folded into their faces in wrinkles; a gym that could have been a prison; a cafeteria that was one; cheap lipstick and cheaper condoms; a dirt track; fences.
When I called Rachel, she answered the phone cheerfully. I should have listened more carefully to that tone, should have let it linger longer before I brought the sky crashing down over her. Last year, around this time, just as the weather was starting to turn and leaves began popping up on all the trees, our uncle died in his sleep; our grandparents were visiting for the week and found him the next morning.
Iman Monfopa Kone’s poem was a finalist for the 2025 Nassau Weekly Poetry Competition. On Sunday, go to the Pond and be selfish there you will find that there is no great mystery. and even though this morning, … Read More
When one thinks of a ‘game,’ hears its notes playing and effects sounding, Like a pot smashing or a brick bashing, When one smells a game, The cellophane of a case, or the rubber of an analog stick, When one … Read More
