an abridged biography of Shirley Jackson One night in the middle of another drunken party—the usual parade stepping over cats and trash, the
I am eating my ancestors. —Charles Simic, “To All Hog-Raisers, My Ancestors” Let’s assume it happens, that the broccoli we eat
My wife waits for a caterpillar to crawl onto her palm so she can carry it out of the street and into the green