How the house sighed, air brim with old wood, paint, and coffee spilling from around the parlor‘s paired doors as I swung them closed, slowing before they smacked the jamb so not to rattle the jaundiced panes or disrupt the furniture we had force-fed the room—
The sea squirt is born with a primitive brain and one eye. It cruises the ocean, and when it finds a surface to fasten to, the squirt eats its own eye and brain. Without movement, it no longer needs them.
Congratulations to all of our nominees!
Congratulations to all of our Best of the Net 2020 nominees!
I needed to be a part of something—anything, a neighborhood—a community, glued together like dark red nail polish dripped dried on white bathroom tile, a messy blob of circumstance reborn.
My father closed his word, laid down the red crayon he used to mark pages, perhaps from Leviticus, For it is the jubilee; it shall be holy unto you: you shall eat the increase thereof out of the field.
I am doing the dishes for the millionth time. And the word weary keeps repeating in my head. It catches itself on a lyric.
Two Jewish men stay up all night drinking and debating the existence of God. At the end of the night, they come to a conclusion: God cannot possibly exist. They tumble out into the early morning air, satisfied with their conclusion.
Every year, my father climbed to the roof in late fall to install his homemade star of David on the top of our house.