The world of Sandra Myers Rothenberg’s stunning bat photographs meets Bach’s First Partita and Julia Wendell’s poem, “Vampire.”
My glittering grandmother, Helen Temple, was a London stage actress and singer during World War I. She was first known for her roles in a variety of Shakespeare plays, then in Galsworthy’s Fugitive and The Skin Game. She played Regina in Ibsen’s Ghosts and starred opposite...READ MORE.
I’m old enough to remember the day Kennedy was shot. Also blurry Neil Armstrong’s echoing, static-y words amped all the way from the Moon. I was pinned up against a playground chain link fence when we heard that our President had fallen; an episode of Bewitched was pre-empted so we could all watch Neil Armstrong step live into our living rooms and onto the Sea of Tranquility; I was two minute licking a horse at Pimlico when the Twin Towers fell, the dark news passing from jockey to jockey like a sick game of Telephone. I remember sitting in classrooms at Cornell that had been damaged by Viet Nam War and Civil Rights protestors...READ MORE.
Moving, death, and divorce—the stressors of life. No one wants to be told she is not a tree. That she doesn’t grow roots. That she doesn’t speak with other trees, that she doesn’t sing to them. Not after so many Marches and Aprils and Mays. Not after so many birthdays...READ MORE.