Christine Stewart-Nuñez Excess Rex My preschooler fears fire, typhoons, and lightning storms. He doesn’t chatter about the Prairie School gas station we scrutinized on vacation; he asks about the wildfire described on the plaque across the street. The burn…
Browsing: Curated
Elaine Terranova Tantrum Things are very hard in the world of a three-year-old. So much you are born not understanding. You can play in the street but only until supper. You get a spanking for the interesting white…
Ann Fisher-Wirth Lebkuchen There is more and more I tell no one Jane Hirshfield Once a week, my mother brought me home to make Lebkuchen, my passion all that fall because it would ripen while I was gone…
Bruce Moody The Embrace Its wings, its ribs, shoulders, its skin have a mind that desires — as the fires of spring desire — to be held, close, firm, firmly by hands. Hold me, hold me the…
Memories of Mother Inspiration or irritation, role model to be followed or not, our mothers imprint their lives upon our own. These works by MER writers remember and reveal mothers in fiction, poetry, and creative prose. Featured: Tsaurah Litzky…
Vivian Montgomery Her Study, Her Story My mother kept the door to her study open at all times. This is how we knew her work was meant to be interrupted, a sideline to us, a thing she did when there…
D.O. Moore Mother’s Day Visitor My hours hover in abeyance—not the hummingbird suspended in a C before my window’s trumpet-flower feeder. Instead your pause, assessing me. You, turquoise purse and heels, waiting for me to sleep or at least consent…
Golda Solomon She Did the Best She Could Friday nights at dusk she lit the Sabbath candles. Her ritual: hold a lit wooden match to the bottom of each tapered candle, melting the wax so the candle stood on its own in the silver…
Catharine Clark-Sayles Yahrzeit Moon Full moon at 3 AM, bright and round, ducking through fast-moving cloud, wind wuthers through the chimney, moans across the downspouts, rattles trees, the house a creaky ship in storm-frothed seas, across the valley – scattered…
Jennifer Dickinson No One’s Darling Etta puts on her pink dress with the slit up the skirt. Lipstick. Powder. Mascara. Rhinestone earrings. Her fur coat. If she’s going to have an audience, she has to look her best. The blonde…