Morgan Talty
Men are coming to take Mom’s bed. Her quilts and blankets and sheets and throws are covered with cigarette burn holes. I strip the bed and fill four big black garbage bags and cram them in her closet whose door does not shut anyway. The mattress, now bare, has burn holes in it too, and […]
Read MoreIN Winter 2021
25 NOVEMBER 2019. 7:30 AM. HUSSON UNIVERSITY, BANGOR, MAINE. The memory begins here: we’re young, us skicins, and we’re somewhere on the reservation, the island. We could have been anywhere, but when we look back on it, we’re in the woods alongside the dirt road that runs against the Penobscot River down to the graveyard, […]
Read MoreIN Spring 2020
I am no longer blind, but there was a time many years ago when I lost my vision. Next week I’ll see the eye doctor for my cataracts, and he’ll ask if my eyes were ever damaged. I don’t know how these things work, but should I go in for surgery—should it come to that—I […]
Read MoreIN Fall 2019
