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Category: Writing

What I imagine when I imagine the end of the world

Short Fiction When I imagine the end of the world, I am alone at the edge of a cliff. It’s evening and God Only Knows …

Let the summer of 40 begin

When I was a younger girl, I never imagined I’d marry a guy my own age. It’s not that I was into older guys. Mamash, …

The obligatory notice

Almost as often as I change the furniture around in my house, I like to play with the look and feel of the blog. Please …

Take heed

What if the woman who’s leaving Bob Dylan in Boots of Spanish Leather returns one day? Maybe instead of boots she just brings her older, softer, leathery self …

Throw my suitcase out there, too

The best coworker I ever had was the one who every morning sat with me for a half hour while drinking our morning coffee and …

Photographic memory

I love photography even though I’ve never been as good at the art as I might have liked; might have been. I’m grateful — seriously, …

Subway metaphor

It’s likely I will never understand the passage of time. By the time I understand I will have passed time. Quickly like the express train. …

My memory waited 14 years for this photo to catch up

“We took our coffee into the living room. He stood at the stereo and asked if I had any requests. ‘Something Blue-ish,’ I said. While he flipped …

The after-taste of a dream

My dreams are poems Righting themselves upside down in Not-for-long Ville.   Still fresh with relief when I wake I take a pen so I may …

From the eyes of Mrs. Murry

Meg’s mother picked up the pair of brown tortoise shell reading glasses from the top of the bedroom dresser. She gently put them on and …

In this world, there is a fragile child

There is a cry lodged There at the farthest most upper reaches There at the roof of my mouth. There, its origin may be found …

The wail

As the two-minute siren commemorating Yom HaZikaron (Israel’s Memorial Day for the fallen) began its descent, a poem began to rise. Please take a few …

Why yoga is the ultimate “ex”

I’m on again in my on again-off again relationship with yoga. This, perhaps, is why you might find more typos in this post than normal. …

In the dark

I was one of those kids who was afraid of the dark. Now, when I say “one of those kids” I do pause for a …

When you don’t have anything to say

This time of year in Israel is often uncomfortable for me. I won’t say difficult, because it seems highly inappropriate to label anything in my …

Nostalgia sounds like …

“There’s an echo in the wind Makes me wonder where I’ve been”   The closest appliance to a time travel machine I’ve ever owned arrived in …

Give me your tired your poor your books

It’s no secret I love old books. I cry over them like they’re wounded, abandoned puppies crouching behind a garbage bin in the rain. Sometimes …

I Can’t Be Trusted

Don’t believe a word of it. Not a letter. Not even a space or a hard return. None of it is to be trusted nor …

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