Fiction
Autumn 2005
The Madonna of the Relics
He felt it most in the evenings. After a day of cleaning an archangel’s silk or the Virgin’s brocade, he would let himself get lost in the fabulous city, walking […]
Fiction
Summer 1984
Snowblind
I come from New England, that antique fist of states in the forehead of the country where we bring up our kids with cold toes so they don’t feel as […]
Nonfiction
Winter 1983
Hands
Here in New England we sit in chairs. It’s from my porch rocker that I watch the raccoon. He usually comes at dusk, that time of day half dog and […]