Growing up on Bryant Avenue in the Bronx
I grew up counting bees and straining chunks of sandstone into empty soup cans. I watched cats play with dead mice and then run away… Read More »Growing up on Bryant Avenue in the Bronx
Lenore's collections include "Tap Dancing on the Silverado Trail" (2011) from Finishing Line Press, “Sh’ma Yis’rael” (2007) from Pudding House Publications, and "Cutting Down the Last Tree on Easter Island" (West End Press, 2012). Her writing has won recognition from Poets&Writers (finalist in California Voices contest) and as a finalist for Pablo Neruda Prize, Nimrod International Journal. The Society for Technical Communication has recognized her work regarding Technical Literacy in the schools. All material is copyrighted on this site and cannot be used without the author's permission.
I grew up counting bees and straining chunks of sandstone into empty soup cans. I watched cats play with dead mice and then run away… Read More »Growing up on Bryant Avenue in the Bronx
As a young man in his twenties, my father wore a Stetson pulled down at an angle over his eyes. He was a thoughtful man… Read More »My Immigrant Parents #3
At the end of June I witnessed a commotion outside my window—droves of orange specks flying in the air. Not one, but hundreds. What were… Read More »How I Turned Into a Ladybug
Martin arrived in this country when he was 11 years old. I have a copy of his steerage papers from Ellis Island. My older sister… Read More »My Immigrant Parents #2
“My Dear Cucie Olga,” my father, Martin Weiss pencils in a four-page letterdated August 8, 1939 when my mother is vacationing in Mountaindale, New York… Read More »My Immigrant Parents
Using the bathroom in an airplane requires extreme precision. But it shouldn’t be called a bathroom; it doesn’t merit the name. Large enough for a toadstool,… Read More »Graduation in Laramie, Wyoming
What do I have against dogs? They shit everywhere anytime they feel a need. My opinion: Once you get to New Delhi there’s no way it… Read More »Going for the Ghazal
Boxed in, no way out, a leaden lid snapped shut, a cloud filled with curses and blessings, demon rain flooding highways and basements, toppling trees,… Read More »Atmospheric River
A Beckett a bucket a ten o’clock fuckit Saunders sauntering (Georgie Porgie pudding and pie) Bardo liberation not with Brigitte, but with Godot
My pulse was in my ears echoing beneath stone walls; pomegranate and chestnut trees shaded the courtyard, leaves immobile in the dry desert. I pulled… Read More »Daphne Rewarmed