“Let me ask you a question, son. Have you ever had to listen to January nights up here? The silence of that wind? Because there aren‘t words...
A night without sleep, spent fretting over stories. About words that are not my own. An hour wasted on pleasure. The winter sun and how it s...
Hockey and poetry, not early passions of mine. I have slept the day’s cold light irrevocably away wrapped in the hissing dinosaur heat. I am...
A pre-eminent Turkish author has passed, prematurely and unexpectedly. His two sons have returned to Istanbul for the funeral. They are both...
