Authors /
Stella Nesanovich
Wednesday Dark
The ashes do not lie. —Rev. Whitney Miller...
Dark and light places
I ran away from home onceto the nearby Bell Theatre,where I often viewed musicalsand comedies with my family.I wanted to escape from quarrels,to find in the dark a life...
The Feast of All Souls
The dead visited this morning: sisters,
parents, aunts and uncles, old professors
and friends—faces so vivid they again
appeared in my room through memory’s lens....
A parable on blindness
My father awoke blind at age seven,casualty of a viral infection.With his sight restored six weeks later,lessons had been etchedin his vision. When his children...
Beach pictures, 1954
The stamp on the backs reads July 12th,Photos faded to greenRipening to sepia edges.Only reds are vivid. The sea grays...
The willful heart
What is this agitation now that I am old,this pining for a svelte body, sinuousas the vine embedded in words, a line...
Sorrow stalks me in an old coat
the color of churned water.I have worn it for years—it no longer fits, tugs at the waistwhere I have grown under cover,spreading like roots, like grief,...
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