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For a parent to come home, for the funeral of a friend, for a lover to arrive
By Our ReadersApril 1994The effect was psychedelic: Dad heard colors and saw sounds. The people who were most crucial during his first twenty-one years of life — his parents, grandparents, brother, aunts, uncles — flashed by in a hallucinogenic parade of fiery color.
By Daniel ChurneyMarch 1994I believe gardening grows on you in your thirties partly because it usually takes that long to acquire land to care for, but mostly because it takes three decades to let the land care for you.
By Sarah FazakerleyFebruary 1994It snowed three nights in a row, the first heavy snowfall in Livorno in more than twenty years. The Red Brigade, angered by US. involvement in Vietnam, were busy that month spray painting US GO HOME in jagged red letters all over the American-owned cars in town.
By Christien GholsonFebruary 1994Mother who falls / past me, who wants / what I cannot give her, / the peace I never found. / I never stopped looking / for you. In every woman. / In every day that sooner / or later let me down.
By Sy SafranskyFebruary 1994Tripod has been peacefully asleep for many minutes, yet I am still running my hand from her ear down to her hip, stroking her again and again. But now I remember why I brought her here, and I look up into the solemn face of the old vet and nod.
By Kristin LevineJanuary 1994Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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