Features

Benessere

 Nico drove with one hand caressing the steering wheel, the very picture of the bella figura so fundamental to Italian manhood. His other arm lay along the seatback, his hand cupping my shoulder. It was a sparkling, chilly November morning. …

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Works-in-Progress

Authors’ note: This essay began after a conversation about writing and our shared interest in documenting the origin and evolution of our identities as writers. We build all our collaborative essays by responding to one another’s sections until a natural

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Machinery

 

My father loved every kind of machinery,

relished bearings, splines, windings, and cogs,

loved the tolerances between moving parts

and the parts that moved the parts,

the many separate machines of machinery.

Loved the punch, the awl, the ratchet,

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Leo’s Bomb

When the bomb goes off Leo is thinking of dogs. In particular: how he doesn’t like them.

It’s something about their eyes, which blink with an odd depth of understanding that appears almost human to him. A few years back, …

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Invasive Beauty

No other creature holds the same romance
in the minds of Icelanders as herring. 
   —Anita Elefson, historian, Herring Era Museum

I sit at a tiny coffeehouse nestled on the southern rocky coast of Iceland’s Snaefellsnes Peninsula, a finger of jagged …

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Etymology of a Mood

 

Sometimes I feel like a goddess

with many hands . . . except human.

One hand is amber-gloved, dripping

with honey, and two constantly shoo

the flies. Two hands play “Miss

Mary Mack” while two pairs clap

to “Rockin’

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Saving a life

My mother hanging sheets on a line 

in ’47. The wind believes it won the war, 

just like the rest of America, 

and swirls her black hair in a manner 

the photo likes to recall. 

Her simple skirt and blouse 

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