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“Go on up there and sing the hell out of that song, Shiffler,” Marva said, and then she hugged me, and I could feel the underside of her breasts brushing my shoulders.
By Kathleen SmithMay 1992We are seduced by the beauty of the veils never to look further. This is God’s camouflage. We must not let Him get away with it.
By David Brendan HopesMay 1992It’s funny how the absence of someone who wasn’t ever really there feels. It’s not like a hurt, it’s more like a bruise you don’t notice till you bump it. Then it stings. But only for a second, only for as long as it takes me to put my mind on happier things.
By Mary SojournerMay 1992Having to choose, clutching a doll, finding it hard to say goodbye
By Our ReadersMay 1992At the age of two, I saw the ocean for the first time. I threw wide my short arms and ran shouting, straight into the Pacific, where an undertow reached out to embrace me. I still remember the upside-down whirlpool of warmth, like the womb out of which I’d so recently swum.
By Brenda PetersonApril 1992Getting mugged in Central Park, doing angel dust, driving into a telephone pole
By Our ReadersApril 1992We sit in the sunlit breakfast room of our apartment, in white terry-cloth robes that have our initials monogrammed in navy just above our hearts.
By Susan Wolf JohnsonMarch 1992A drawing on a napkin, a motorcycle helmet, a sound never heard before
By Our ReadersMarch 1992Mark’s forehead smacks against the visor, but he’s held in by the steering wheel. Cindi finds herself in the air, and there is a moment of crazy exhilaration as she sees the jeep spin beneath her, as if some childhood dream of flying has come true.
By Richard GoldsteinJanuary 1992I’ve taken one of the self-addressed envelopes you left on your father’s dresser and I’m writing to let you know a little about his first two weeks here at the Home.
By Robert P. WeintraubJanuary 1992Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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