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December 2014It is easy to get a thousand prescriptions but hard to get one single remedy.
Chinese proverb
I’m scared now because so little of the Darren I’ve always known seems to remain in his weakened body. I can’t remember ever having been more frightened by a change in someone. I understand that we should expect “personality inconsistencies,” as the emergency-room doctor said, but it’s as if an entirely new brother came home with us from the Wabash County Hospital.
By Doug CrandellSeptember 2014The winter garden is a good place to incubate the idea of a child. It is all potential, like an empty house waiting to be furnished. Just as I imagined the chickens laying, the now-dormant bulbs blossoming, and the grapes ripening in the sun, so too I dreamed of buying maternity clothes and onesies, feeling euphoric after giving birth, and feeding an infant from my own body. Even the prospect of sleepless nights with a crying baby seemed enticing.
By Hanna NeuschwanderSeptember 2014There is nothing to remember. Pale flesh and coarse, dark hair and a mountain of a belly. Hands that lingered too long. A weight that wouldn’t move. No, nothing to remember.
By Jacqui ShineMay 2014A potted nandina shrub, an antique makeup compact, a light-blue cotton dress with white embroidery
By Our ReadersFebruary 2014In rugby I find a clan of women who braid their hair tight to their scalps, who have tattoos and girlfriends and are fiercely loyal. They are my comrades on the field. They risk injury for me, and I do the same for them. Since women’s rugby is an underfunded club sport, we fight for field space, wake up early, play on the rocky public fields of Oakland.
By Rose WhitmoreFebruary 2014It was raining outside and cold; we were in the middle of a dark November on the Lake Plains of New York State. Inside the movie theater I was drunk on cheap beer, and you were holding me.
By Christian ZwahlenAugust 2013My husband stands at the front of the bus, one hand clutching a rail, the other gripping a strap, his hospital gown floating below a puffy blue winter jacket.
By Patricia FosterJanuary 2013Long after our last slow day together, / say, a campfire, a walk in the woods, / getting lost and not caring
By Jim RalstonSeptember 2012Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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