Lenore Weiss

I distill these moments from paged memory and expand my soul before the air runs out.

This week I didn’t need my GPS device to find my way to the office. Instead I watched clouds cast shadows over the foothills, the hide of a prehistoric animal

We watch the news like everyone else, and read online like everyone else, and hear the same story like everyone else, but we’re not everyone else because my husband is

A girl was bending down to the pavement, taking her time to look and look again, it seemed as though she would fall head-first as though she were a tenant

The neighbors flooded MacArthur Avenue-2

I stood on the corner of the hospital waving for the Uber to pick me up at the curb in the snowstorm, hoping Lew was cooking his grandmother’s recipe for