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Home is 1.1 miles away, about a five-minute bike ride. I can feel the distance in my gut, like a rubber band with one end attached to my apartment and the other to my lower intestine.
By Hank StephensonFebruary 2021February 2021In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the great world in our arms and kiss it. Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire will neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts; and all without and within is dismal, cold, and dark. Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Hyperion
A hasty purchase, a starvation diet, an unwanted pregnancy
By Our ReadersFebruary 2021Ropes pulled tight at the huge plastic tarp / we tied from the house to the trees / like a sail, in case it rained. / It rained. I became fifty. Then the sun shone, / then the moon.
By Kenneth HartFebruary 2021He was still reading the Book of Job. The prophet Jonah tried to flee from God unto Tarshish, and Isadore Lemberger was fleeing from death unto Buenos Aires.
By Isaac Bashevis SingerFebruary 2021I read all the literature hospice brought: Give the gift of comfort and calm. Give them support, permission. Give them more than they gave you.
By Stephanie AustinFebruary 2021All the data so far suggest that a single treatment, or two treatments, with psychedelics can relieve depression for an extended period, because the psychedelics cause the patient to see the world differently.
By Sarah ConoverFebruary 2021Some treat shiva purely as a party. Some have a mournful air. Some look deeply into your eyes, and you can see that they have suffered, too. This is the higher purpose of suffering: to inspire deep-eyed compassion. It’s one of those truisms that is actually true.
By SparrowJanuary 2021Here is the truth: I think some deep wisdom inside me (a) sensed the stress, (b) was terrified for me, and (c) gave me something new and hard to focus on in order to prevent me from lapsing into a despair coma — and also to keep me from having a jelly jar of wine in my hand.
By Laura PritchettJanuary 2021Lonely and a little bored, / I used to donate blood every eight weeks / at the Red Cross across the street / from my studio apartment. / Eyes skyward, arm shot straight, I’d sigh / as a butterfly needle settled on my skin, / its plastic wings drawn to a vein / in my forearm
By Jared HarélJanuary 2021Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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