Inevitably, She Declined
In her flesh for half a century, an unhinged sapphire unmarrying.
In honor of what would be Lucie Brock-Broido’s 63rd birthday, we revisit her poem “Inevitably, She Declined,” from our Archives.
Abundant Life: An Interview with Detroit Painter Darius Baber
I do still want to be an art teacher, but maybe like an internet art teacher, you know what I mean? I guess I kind of want to be the black Bob Ross. Actually, I don’t kind of want to, I’m definitely going to be the black Bob Ross. Just not as corny. I mean, even though Bob Ross is a G, he’s kind of corny.
Imagined Life
You see how much work we have ahead of us-we still have that country to find, and we still have its stories to tell.
Arousing Hell: A Review of Jessica Francis Kane’s Bending Heaven
In this collection the social scale is high and expensive: in London one of the couples stays at the Royal Lancaster Hotel, and Potomac Run, a variation on the Homestead in Virginia, can be patronized only by the well-heeled.
Four Murders
He knew how to be eleven years old. He took joy in the moment—in the good slice of pizza, the trip to the arcade, the tickle fight. As part of a big family he was happy to be in company with lots of people. To his relatives I must have seemed like the strange one: quiet, introverted, demanding of difficult pleasures that were a long time in coming. I never talked to him, or to them, about love.