EIGHT WEEKS by MADEIRA MILLER
The heaviest thing I ever carriedwas raspberry-sized. There wasnothing ceremonious about it; itwas...
Read MoreThe heaviest thing I ever carriedwas raspberry-sized. There wasnothing ceremonious about it; itwas...
Read MorePoetry is knowing many names—few need to be of people. Composition calls on the...
Read Morethere is something to waiting for a trap that isn’tcoming. analyzing lilts and usage and tonal discrepanciesfor a word that would consume you. you, i mean me.word, i mean name. he, i mean they. she, i mean they. them, i...
Read MoreDear Our Beloved Son, I noticed at dinner the other day you didn’t pray with us....
Read MoreI grew up enjoying my status as an only child in a family with just mom and dad. In the 1950’s, that was unusual even sort of frowned upon. I liked it. Lots of attention and much quieter. My friends all had little urchins...
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