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When my sister Fawn told me she’d decided to adopt a little girl, I was skeptical. The girl’s name was Sam, and she lived in a group home run by — according to Fawn — gang members, illiterates, and pervs. Fawn had a master’s in social work and had been working with lost youth for years.
By April WilderNovember 2007I want to tell you about a cat — a sublime creature entrusted to me in my youth — that I allowed to die. There were extenuating circumstances, but there always are. I forgive myself nothing. She loved me, and I let her down. I committed a terrible crime.
By Varley O’ConnorOctober 2007The instant Fritz sees her at Keith Gentile’s party, it clicks: Claire Raffo. The pitiful little girl he knew way back at Saints Peter and Paul grade school, who sobbed herself sick every day over lunch while the gorgeous Sister Hyacinth smiled and banged the table with her yardstick and drilled Claire in her lovely soprano to eat.
By Joseph BathantiSeptember 2007June 2007The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved — loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of our selves.
Victor Hugo
We are all named / out of love — for / an uncle, a cousin, / a dead violinist. / Often we forget / the love in our names.
— from “Named”
By SparrowJune 2007At a backyard barbecue under the tangled mesquite trees around his run-down but peaceable home, Victor, one of my fellow English-as-a-second-language teachers at the Instituto de Inglés, insists that there is nothing in the States for me, no reason for me to return.
By Poe BallantineMarch 2007The rain hits the tin roof, a sound Norma loves. Too loud, I insist, unable to sleep. What do you call the rain when two people can’t agree what the rain sounds like?
By Sy SafranskyOctober 2006Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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