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Every night Lynn cooks onions for supper: liver and onions, onion soup, onion rings, hot sausage grinders. Every night, amidst the smell of onions, Jerry removes pieces of the kitchen’s blue-flowered wallpaper, exposing patches of green paint and gray paste.
By D. Dina FriedmanSeptember 1993An intuitive decision, a trip to the park, a confluence of yellow
By Our ReadersMarch 1993I run for president the same way. Every few weeks, I go to St. Mark’s Church (a half block from my house), mimeograph leaflets, and stick some in my attache case. Whenever it comes up in a conversation that I’m running for president, I take one out.
By SparrowSeptember 1992Bringing someone back to life, going through fertility treatments, spending more time with family
By Our ReadersJune 1992An eclipse, a single gardenia and an avocado, a fine blue Cadillac
By Our ReadersDecember 1991Last week while she was in bed with the first bout of morning sickness, she watched the “Donahue” show. The woman he was interviewing, a fleshy redhead who leaned sensuously toward the camera, had just written The Mistress Book.
By Rebecca McClanahanSeptember 1991Woman’s current advance in society is not a voyage from myth to truth but from myth to new myth. The rise of rational, technological woman may demand the repression of unpleasant archetypal realities. In its argument with male society, feminism must suppress the monthly evidence of woman’s domination by chthonian nature. Menstruation and childbirth are an affront to beauty and form. In aesthetic terms, they are spectacles of frightful squalor.
By Camille PagliaAugust 1990Mary Ann does not see the doctor until she’s on the operating table, knees bent, her feet strapped into stirrups. . . . The doctor does not speak to her, never glances at her face. A girl, twelve or thirteen years old, stands to one side, squeezing Mary Ann’s hand. The girl’s hands are small and quite strong. Mary Ann squeezes back.
By Janina LynneJuly 1990Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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