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illness

abstract painting titled where the hell with red blue and yellow strokes and blocks

“Emit and Edit”: An Introduction to Our Special Issue on Caregiving

Among the writers we’ve assembled here you’ll find redemptive rhetorics of weather, decipherable stars, children who don’t speak for years, parents who can speak no longer, people calling people animals, signs of disappearance, a word that’s given, then is folded like a map to secret places, some “small speakings,” and several foreign languages.

“Emit and Edit”: An Introduction to Our Special Issue on Caregiving Read More »

Among the writers we’ve assembled here you’ll find redemptive rhetorics of weather, decipherable stars, children who don’t speak for years, parents who can speak no longer, people calling people animals, signs of disappearance, a word that’s given, then is folded like a map to secret places, some “small speakings,” and several foreign languages.

Language, Place, and the Remarkable In-between: An Interview with Laura Esther Wolfson

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“While my writing is autobiographical, I don’t feel beholden to the facts because I’m using the materials of my life to create a story. The purpose is not to tell people that this is what happened, nor should people read my work in order to find out about my life. I want people to read these essays as works of literature, stories.”

Language, Place, and the Remarkable In-between: An Interview with Laura Esther Wolfson Read More »

“While my writing is autobiographical, I don’t feel beholden to the facts because I’m using the materials of my life to create a story. The purpose is not to tell people that this is what happened, nor should people read my work in order to find out about my life. I want people to read these essays as works of literature, stories.”

“Purgatory,” by Michael O’Rourke

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When they arrive I’ve crawled my way to the bathroom, peeled off my underwear, and, with the strength of a 155-pound Hercules who by now has lost half the blood in his body, heaved myself into the bathtub in an attempt to clean up.

“Purgatory,” by Michael O’Rourke Read More »

When they arrive I’ve crawled my way to the bathroom, peeled off my underwear, and, with the strength of a 155-pound Hercules who by now has lost half the blood in his body, heaved myself into the bathtub in an attempt to clean up.

“Swimmer,” by Rebecca Givens Rolland

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My mind’s packed with clouds, dark roads, endless water. Losing names, losing facts, like a half-filled sieve. And yet the mind’s not supposed to go. I point Nicole to the elevator, and we step in.

“Swimmer,” by Rebecca Givens Rolland Read More »

My mind’s packed with clouds, dark roads, endless water. Losing names, losing facts, like a half-filled sieve. And yet the mind’s not supposed to go. I point Nicole to the elevator, and we step in.

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