“Wordless,” an essay by Susan Moldaw.
All we can say at the end. “She rubs my knuckles and down each finger with even sweeps of her thumb, her other hand bent clawlike beside her face.” Orange Memorial Hospital. Photograph by Chad Hunt. The old woman lies in the fetal position in her hospital bed, breathing the slow, rhythmic sighs of death. She moans,...
“Prologue” and “A Spectacle”: two poems by Heather Tourgee from “Birth, School, Work, Death.”
“The world is not ending! The world is not ending!” To enjoy these features as broadsides, drag the images to your desktop. Or simply scroll down to read in plain text. These poems are also available, in slightly different format, on Medium. Prologue after Robert Burns I awake one night in April to the sounds and...
“Holy Smoke Vanities,” a poem by Gerard Sarnat.
On death and the spirit. “ … winds can visit my carcass plus perhaps maybe recall us dust to dust to dust …” You can enjoy this poem as a broadside by dragging the image below to your desktop — or scroll down to read as regular text. Holy Smoke Vanities – i. Delusions of Grandeur R.I.P Tom Wolfe, 1931–2018 Snubbed, existing barely,...
“Kuan Yin,” a memoir by Judy Anne Wilson: Coming out as a lesbian in the first years of the AIDS crisis.
“I imagined his losses as paving stones, each appearing one after the other, each the dispossession of a dream, a hope.” Pride. Photo by the author. – Kuan Yin I was such a newbie, arriving in San Francisco on a rare sunlit afternoon in mid-November 1983. A picaro of sorts, by way of trust-fund-baby hippie communes and other,...
“Elegy for My Mother,” a poem by Ann Quinn.
Life, death, transfiguration. “It was to be a good death, a clean death, a loving death …” — 1. October 11, 1970 I am in my first-grade classroom in Lexington Park, Maryland. The teacher has made a space capsule from a card table and blanket. Inside are two children picked to be astronauts, a boy...
