The first time, nostalgia came over me; like looking at a picture of myself I had never seen. I gazed, second person, mut...

Progression of days playing in a constant loop, a marriage of minds. The loop is safe; just what we take, walking all that is...

Modest lunchbox. Preferably tartan. Brodie or MacGregor. No thermos necessary. Replacement for brown bag. Bologna and...

Mad wings beat ―   hover, peep, tumble from fairy tale, Easter basket. It knows it should fly. How did it stray from the ...

It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman Exes and seas span time zones, sweet chains of unwrapped figs, ...

They linger, still play in the keys, stick to my fingers with marmalade. I sip coffee impulses, snack between words ...