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I have spent hours in attics, the kind reached by pulling a rope in the ceiling and ascending to a stagnant room. It was in attics that I found love letters tied with ribbons, and wedding dresses in paper boxes the size of coffins, and sepia photographs of uncles in uniform and children who’d died of scarlet fever. I sifted through images of wraparound porches and white chickens, three-legged dogs and men with cigars. I think there is a reason why the past collects in attics: heavily, above us.
By Faith ShearinDecember 2024There are countless theories about the origins of the pebble storms. The one that makes the most sense to me is something about melting ice caps and ocean acidification and dying coral reefs.
By Peter StensonOctober 2024Teenage parties, lost treasures, wartime bomb shelters
By Our ReadersOctober 2024Missed calls, misheard lyrics, mistaken identities
By Our ReadersSeptember 2024A teenage rite of passage, a prison barber, a husband’s unfamiliar face
By Our ReadersJuly 2024Once we start to recognize that most of us will, at some point, have to step out of our professional role to provide care, then we have to transform how we’re running our economies. At the moment, our economies are relying on these hidden tragedies that befall women behind closed doors. All to keep the wheels of industry turning.
By Mark LevitonJune 2024Noah, his swelled head, his ego larger than the ark, his crazy / self-promoting savior mania. Because of him we dropped / everything, sank our fortune in cypress wood, and every / filthy creature we couldn’t trap we had to buy with our last coin.
By Wendy DrexlerMarch 2024“You found it?” I could tell my answer had pleased him. By then the cashier was ready for me. The checkout had two conveyor belts, and I pushed my cart around to the belt on the opposite side, relieved to be out of close proximity to the man, who now stood across from me.
By Susan BrunsFebruary 2024I know that what we call hate is sometimes love that was pushed under a rock, love deprived of light and water. “Tell me to what you pay attention,” writes the philosopher José Ortega y Gasset in his book Man and Crisis, “and I will tell you who you are.” How much love is putrefying inside boys this very moment, starved for nourishment?
By Nicole Graev LipsonJanuary 2024Shining shoes, spreading gossip, growing plants in prison
By Our ReadersJanuary 2024Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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