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“Aren’t antiquities different on account of changing hands, of being assigned different meanings in different eras, so that it’s excusable for even columns of a given structure to be parted…
Blood streaks the edge of the Earth. Cirrus clouds wisp across the mountain crags. Then dusk darkens towards us. A silver crescent moon, its points upward, rises before us. The…
“At the Lake” by JoAnneh Nagler is a nostalgic journey into the simplicity and complexities of childhood summers, exploring family dynamics, self-discovery, and the indelible mark of place on memory.
“Watching her for technique, my hip sockets suffered vicariously. Despite the relentless, repetitive movement, her core – I mean the core of her disposition – was solid. Under the turquoise…
“I was the one who had to lean into my morals and away from the notion that I was bound by blood.”