Counting

Our Aunt Fanny began her measuring that summer while dusk stood outside her bedroom windows, preparing to stoop and slide through the screens. She was our father’s maternal cousin, daughter of Senator Joe B, as our grandmother cared to call him, because of the way he clunked ice cubes in whiskeys too fine for the… More

The Fire Says

What might it mean to be drawn into meanings that, in some profound and necessary sense, shatter us? Christian Wiman: My Bright Abyss (2013) At six years old, distant enough from the ground to realize that you can connect the closely seen and the far away, the detail and an extension of details, I began… More