Perfume of the Page
My mother sometimes phones to read me a line or a passage, often from The New York Times; and when I was a reporter in my twenties, she called to read me enslaved by the scent of lilac. She savored the idea of a passerby bound to a lilac bush by invisible ropes of scent.
Enslaved… … Read more
Spend three weeks at St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica and you will meet quite a few canine therapists. Moe, a standard poodle, was particularly healing for my mom; he ascended to her bed on lanky paws, folded them beneath himself like a colt, and rested his long muzzle on her hand. Kiki, a golden… …
I’m rereading
“Either you see a picture immediately,” Cezanne told the writer Joachim Gasquet, “or you never see it at all.
My friend Heather Hartley’s debut poetry collection—the witty, nervy, sexy