I want to write today, dearly. But my heart is not having it. My heart, so often, seems to fall flat, to weaken and dull when I need it to b...
I feel that I write you far too often. I also feel that my letters don't often have a purpose beyond my own existential machinations;...
That first light of summer in Philadelphia. It is a cataclysm, or a lambent catechism, or a cataract of sun. And it lingers, like a yo...
After the long swelter, a full moon swells in the east. The old women saunter out their windows, smoking sleepy cigarettes, taking th...
“Don’t you get homesick?” I smile, close my eyes, feel her run a hand over my face, which makes me laugh. “Well, don’t you?” I ...
Aya Sofia is there, across the water, shrouded in the haze that blankets this city. The gulls form a pestilence behind the boat, little scar...
It was Thanksgiving. My parent’s house was packed with family and friends. We were all sitting around our long dining room table, slowly wor...
