Author name: Annaliese

HIP MAMA

I am the worst for time, distance, direction. A friend says I need only focus and I can develop those […]

A few months ago now, I spent a weekend in Lowell, Maine, teaching writing through the lens of food. Eating

Strange as it sounds even to me, in October, if you want to write with me, you have two opportunities.

This morning I am dancing. If not in reality—in heart and mind. I twisted my ankle last night rising

It’s a complicated story, this face thing. If you were to analyze all the individual components of my face—eyes, nose,

“Every day, artist Harold Garde wields his brush and paint like a warrior in battle. And every day, so far, he

I watch Mama lift the stiff shaft of white delphinium into the light. The bulb over the sink is naked.

She leans into my body.

Drink up, I tell you. It’s only my Mum. A cup of real woman. Dead six years, cremated at McHoul’s