Mother was a moon-faced woman. Her visage was not merely of lunar pallor or rounded, with Aleutian cheekbones; rather her head was a small luminous moon. The moon was said to have appeared suddenly at menarche, and was quite beautiful, especially at night. Hers was an unusual existence, of course, and most solitary. My father…Continue Reading “Moon Mother”

He came out of the warehouse’s dark hallway. Rita, who was twelve-years old that winter, noticed right away he had a familiar, pale, friendly face. He joyfully took her hands. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said. “I don’t know you,” she said automatically. “Let go!” He didn’t. Instead, he indicated an office…Continue Reading “Time is Like a River, and After Sunset, It Is Black”