All the Forgetting
so many ends before the end.
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...moreI want to leave the party through the window and find my uncle standing on a piece of iron shaped into visible desperation, which must also be (how can it not?) the beginning of visible hope.
...moreThe poet goes to the supermarket for peanut butter. The poet cleans the toilet. The poet responds to emails.
...moreMy wife, Ritu, a receptionist at a motel, works four nights a week. In the morning, I pick her up in our used Honda and drive her home. After she showers, I bring her a cup of fresh ginger and cardamom tea. She smells of lavender, her hair glowing with water beads, her eyelashes stuck […]
...moreWaiting to turn forty-six is like standing in the unrelenting sunshine.
...moreOttessa Moshfegh discusses her new novel, MY YEAR OF REST AND RELAXATION.
...moreI am sick with grief, triggered by my mother’s death, in turn triggered by Chardonnay.
...moreI pushed him so he glided through the fish, the eels, the boxed-in worlds of blues.
...moreShe gave him a small, relieved laugh. In another world, she replied.
...moreI wanted to feel in control of something, but I didn’t know how to say that.
...moreMorbid humor exists for a reason: to poke fun at our inevitable ends and lighten its emotional load.
...moreNneka M. Okona discusses her new book, SELF-CARE FOR GRIEF.
...more“Speaking English so well” seemed to be the key to open many doors.
...moreIf the birds were first, other small things would surely follow, and we are the caretakers of small things.
...moreAs the title suggests, Sanctuary creates a safe space for grief in all its forms.
...moreWhat makes a body violable? This jaw, a piece of evidence. This body, the remains of a life.
...more“Tick tock tick tock,” Raven says. “It’s my departure or yours.”
...moreResonance is a given. You can’t help but hear. In Lauren Shapiro’s Arena, every seat is the best seat in the house.
...moreZauner’s memoir is not a performance, but an act of love, including all the dirty little bits that come with it.
...moreA family’s grief traps generations in a search for insight.
...more“Was it vodka?” Mama said. Her voice had cracks in it. Why ask? She knew.
...moreMan was living on the moon but Medicare was still a disaster.
...moreAppearance aside, my boss took his work seriously.
...moreAndrés Cerpa discusses his new poetry collection, THE VAULT.
...moreElizabeth Ellen discusses her new story collection, HER LESSER WORK.
...moreAndrea Actis discusses her debut book, GREY ALL OVER.
...moreChoose, the specter points in opposite directions.
...moreWhen Jeb was old enough to have a family of his own, he hardly ever laid hands on his boys.
...moreI wonder, then, what it is to die. Perhaps to die is a matter of location.
...moreThere was nothing in the world I had ever needed to do quite like dance.
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