This story, authored by newspaper columnist Yente Serdatsky, was first published in the Yiddish daily “Forverts” on July 3, 1921. The following translation, by Dalia Wolfson, was made possible with support from the Yiddish Book Center. Summertime my...
Before the asteroid hits, we pack up the car. Swimsuits and sun hats, coloring books, a fully stocked diaper bag, though the toddler is almost potty trained—another week or two and she would’ve had it. The pills you stole from the med room at work, just in case. Trail...
Photo by Alexanderphoto7 / Shutterstock.com quantum of pepper in a Bloody Mary so perfectequates tipsy to happyrolling down my throatin jeeps of pinwheel candyseducing stomachyou Sir be a fine mess belly blushing a baby’s pinkmy frame a door to seaweed pleasure to...
Molten candy peach nectar streams over lips salty- licked, pistachios shucked on steep dunes, stoic veined bookends, marble slipping welcome into cotton gloves worn by the waves. The sea open tide all the way to Africa. My spaces draw onto creased linen, fried rigid...
It’s that time of year when the eucalyptus trees peel their bark like wet swimsuits and let them slap onto the ground, as if they could step out of the soggy pile and kick it to the side. They bare their long trunks, poised on the precipice over New Brighton beach...
