when my mother died so did our language the one we spoke each day at the kitchen table each night by the hum of the television on the telephone between visits the language that dropped from the open window above her garden while she pruned and tied and watered an old language perfect for prayers she whispered songs she sang it lived between us like the child we both loved now i must slide my fingers over this miracle of technology to hear her voice this new world has no…
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“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.’” – Erma Bombeck But what if you stood before Him at the close of your moments still stuffed with unused talents? Only a few bits used up That is very wasteful says God I could have given those To someone else But I wanted you to have them I thought you could do something with them…
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In Celibate: A Memoir (Apprentice House Press, 2019) Maria Giura recounts the deep crisis and sense of displacement she experienced…
Mythopoeia, or myth making, are narratives that create reliable explanations for ontic stability. They are stories that interplay archetypes and…
In 2004, Antonio Iantorno stood on Viale Monza in Milano, handing out homemade flyers. Greeting strangers with a smile, he…
SAPLING Sunday mornings, Mom attends mass at St. Ambrose Church while Dad takes me to High Park where I play…
“Since the house is on fire, let us warm ourselves.” (Italian proverb) Monday, 9 a.m. Not writing. Dim, dreary…
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