Broken-in shoes gather molded arches beneath an army of dangling limbs. Some wait, collars upturned, yearning to be made whole. Bare wire hangers dig meatless fingers into sagging woolen shoulders,
When I think of the witch in Hansel and Gretel, I think of my kindergarten teacher from P.S. 48 in the Bronx, Mrs. Burke. Her one saving grace
She spoke with a Hungarian accent, her speech
bordered on vines and blue forget-me-nots
It’s been a year since I arrived in the northeastern portion of Louisiana, a wilderness and a wonderland to a northerner who has never lived south before. I’ve been introduced
When I drove to Jackson, Mississippi to meet with several members of the Writer’s Guild for lunch, I discovered the answer to a question that I’d been asking myself for a long
A computer is the last place to look for the Holocaust.