Nine Winds (i am only ever writing about love)

Nine Winds (i am only ever writing about love)

I. Pandemic IT IS THE FIRST WEEK OF MARCH WHEN WE CROSS THE BORDER INTO MEXICO, continuing the long drive from the temperate rainforest of the Pacific Northwest and head down the California coast, where the land is roughened into arid boulders. We are now cruising the...
What We Hear from our Neighbors

What We Hear from our Neighbors

 Michael and Sara supervised their neighbor once from their living room window as he cut down a hundred-foot tree alone. Both the maples and the neighbors in that part of Vermont come in one size. Double-XL for the trees. Extra-small talk for the neighbors.  “That...
How Can Black People Go Camping at a Time Like This?

How Can Black People Go Camping at a Time Like This?

LIKE A BEACHED WHALE, THE REFRIGERATION CONTAINER RESTS ON LOWRY Avenue behind North Memorial Health, a trauma hospital in Robbinsdale, Minnesota. It’s been there since March. Either whitewashed or dulled by time, the hand lettering on its side reads, Frank’s...
Seeking Shelter

Seeking Shelter

On a cold-throttled January afternoon, shortly after the holidays, library trustee Susan Greene walked in on an intruder in the Woodbury Library. Minutes before, a neighbor had messaged Susan after spying a local man named John Baker[1] hurrying around the back of the...