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At the bustling farmers’ market — surrounded by babies and dogs and the heady scent of fir trees for sale — I eat a sliver of Evercrisp off a toothpick. “Don’t ask me where they get the names,” says the man who moves among the apples, fluffing plastic bags and wedging
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Two Friends Books in Bentonville, AR. Mural by Kenza. I flew down to Bentonville, AR, for a week. I do and don’t want to tell you all about it. Thing is, I’m not writing a diary, I’m writing a guardrail. Keeping a lamp burning. I’m reaching
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The weather is up and down. There is no one day when you put away one coat, and take out another. Instead we keep all our coats close to hand. Coats of different weights and lengths, like pencils. And gloves, and hats. We line the wide windowsills with blankets, so
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A sculpture by Rose B. Simpson at the Whitney Museum “In the beginning, my children objected to my smoking. Then they too picked up the habit.” * We’re flying home from LA. In the row behind us, a small child is asking, “Why,” with every out breath, as if the
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“Should I look among the living or the dead If I’m searching for you.” — Son Lux, “Lanterns Lit (Among the Living)” * Elena Mikhailovna wanted Kirill, her son, to work for the government as a “chinovnik,” a clerk. ”What does a clerk do?” I asked. “A clerk registers. See here,
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