Cammy Thomas The Little X I have to work so hard to click the little x that gets me out of there. It’s 1 a.m. and I could do, couldn’t I, just one more episode, only the one?…
Browsing: MER Online
Elizabeth Burk How I Mourn the limber body, smooth flesh +++strong bones, resilient spine, the moxie and verve of my younger self. The wish to haul that body from the graveyard +++of buried hope haunts me, stirs images…
Harriet Bailiss The Line We have, somehow, stumbling half-blind through the sleeplessness and the viruses and the heart-torque of fierce love muddled with fearful uncertainty, got here. We have got through twelve months, almost, and so it is time…
Caryn Cardello Normal Kids We were in the sandbox, during the normal time before Covid, and I was texting my partner about the possibility that our son might be profoundly gifted, when the child in question leaned over the…
Lisa Fogarty Frozen Spigots My twelve-year-old wants to do everything in her bedroom these days, but we put our foot down and say, “no meals.” Crumbs, bugs, we’re your family and you love us, remember? We compromise on snacks.…
Megan Hanlon Dear Wooden Swing Set, Steadfast and reliable, you have been my friend during these long short years. Together we’ve passed many damp mornings and long-shadowed afternoons: you, the sturdy fixture that invited my children to crawl on…
Jennifer Gay Summers Mothers Come First My husband and I stood in a hospital corridor, dressed in pink surgical scrubs, waiting to see our baby born. After six long years of miscarriages, in-vitro procedures, an adoption agency, and private…
Elsie Wu Mun Yuet Day I hear Dennis cry. I hear feet shuffling hurriedly. A door opens. His cry is loud, then he’s soothed to silence by the warmth of his mother’s full breast. Rubbing my eyes to clearly…
Kerry Neville The Last Peach The world is about to end and I worry about my saggy, crepey skin, the way it hangs loose and fast when I push back into downward dog. I stare at my legs…
Jeanne-Marie Fleming Couldn’t Keep Her My husband leaned against the door frame, hung his head and told our son, Colin, “Mommy is mean; she doesn’t like dogs.” “Dear Easter Bunny,” Colin wrote in third-grade cursive, “Can you please bring…