Review by Ros Howell A recent reviewer of Jacqueline Rose’s Mothers: An Essay on Love and Cruelty writing in The Guardian online (herself a mother) appeared to reject to one of the central arguments in Rose’s book that “Unless…
A Mother’s Love: Essays and Poems Exploring Grief and Loss a folio curated by JP Howard featuring Regina Jamison Breena Clarke Cheryl Boyce-Taylor Sonia Jaffe Robbins Amber Flame Lynne Connor I am writing this introductory essay to this…
Review by Lisa C. Taylor This beautiful anthology, with its meditations on a motherland in relation to both country and transition couldn’t be more relevant to our times. Beginning with a knockout poem by Beth Ann Fennelly, “Latching On, Falling…
Brainwalk by May Joseph On October 30, 2012, Hurricane Sandy enveloped downtown Manhattan in a total blackout. The terrifying reality of living on the top floor of a tall skyscraper without electricity, a generator or emergency lights hit home. My…
Review by Bunny Goodjohn Writers plunder, excavate, and strip-mine without regard for the consequences to others. They suck their loved ones dry of vital fluids, revealing their deepest fears and yearnings. They expose the most precious secrets of their friends…
Reviewed by Lara Lillibridge – On Mothering Multiples: Complexities and Possibilities is an anthology comprised of fifteen essays by mothers of multiples. The collection includes a mix of personal essays and well-researched academic papers with three “interludes” by visual…
Mothers Are Making Art A collaborative project among Mom Egg Review, the ProCreate Project, the Museum of Motherhood, and The Mother Magazine, Mothers Are Making Art (M.A.M.A.) pairs work by mother visual artists with words from Mom Egg Review writers. The project…
May Joseph Cricket Sounding Darkness March 5, 2016 An abandoned house with red tiled roof in decay rises across the small hill. It appears so much smaller, innocuous, from how I remember it. It is my mother’s childhood…
When I was young, engulfed in a hazy half-life of drug and alcohol- induced close calls, I never imagined that I would live to see children or grandchildren. I could more readily see my spirit sinking away from an emaciated…
Mrs. Yip the funeral director called. “Your father must have loved you children so much, because when I touched his body the skin disintegrated in my hands.” My father’s will to live through his two years of terminal colon cancer…