No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story.
Thirty years earlier it never would have occurred. In my day, boys and girls had separate hockey teams. However, the rules changed. Today every team must have at least six girls on the bench for the peewee and bantam age groups.
The game hasn't suffered. Until hormones strike, the girls are just as fast, strong and aggressive. It does m
An actor in the audience asks how she so fully inhabits each role. The stiffness falls away. Be honest, she says, be strong, even be wrong...
And beneath, beyond it all, the world we can't conjure. Where we belong. Not with the crowd
I wouldn’t say that we get the charming, fun loving Lenin from Mieville but he’s not holding his nose when presenting the great revolutionary as Pipes seems to be doing.
They moved over to the plaid couches. Art and Deb sat next to each other, Dan sat across from them, the accused and the executioner. Deb set the urn on the coffee table between them.
“Start at the beginning,” Dan suggested.
“Biracial, I think.”
Luciana glanced up into the mirror to see who had said it, but it was impossible to tell; the chatter of thirty-one, day-tripping blue hairs and silver tops muddled any trace of its origin.