It was sometime after the pork chops—dinner finished, the wine half drunk, tea for me—that Jaine started to talk. “You know how the ’70s were,” she said, sipping her third glass of Bordeaux. “The idealism of the ’60s was approaching death’s door, but Reagan hadn’t yet slit its throat. We were all looking for something…
My mother dies before she knew me. When she becomes sick, I move in to her house, and when she dies, I inherit the place. An old, two-story shotgun house. Each room is an agony of her belongings. I camp in the living room closest to the front door. Venturing farther in feels obscene. More…
On rare nights in the late fall when the moon is a sliver short of full, the fog rolls in from the sea to fill the hollows and valleys of Whitecliff. And on such nights, the children of the town go fishing. * * * Min padded down the dark hallway in her…
Around ten in the morning, Dr. Sekitei stopped by with a bunch of spring onions and a bottle of beer in his hand. We had become friends through our mutual love of haiku. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You don’t look well.” “Noises from the Tasakas’ pond keep me awake at night. I haven’t slept…