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Laura
Basho So here it is again, same as last time, water under the bridge, a day straight as the crow flies, and light smoky through the woods. There is no other color except brown and... More »
Laura
I've been thinking lately about how to begin writing down any sort of coherent narrative, or set of narratives, about my family---who they were and are and how their respective senses of self were... More »
Laura
I'm not a big fan of Welty's writing, though I certainly acknowledge her talent. I prefer Carson MCullers and Flannery O'Connor and even, more recently, much of Mary Hood's fiction. But I do love her photography,... More »
Laura
On display in an old glass case There are two masks, Doughfaces, Spread surfaces meant to hide all but eyes Mouth And nose, Pale and holding the light fiercely: Screens, thinning. At the edges of... More »
Laura
Laura came to my mom, apparently, when she was sitting in a theater watching Dr. Zhivago and she was carrying me. I kicked, and Lara became Laura. My middle name used to be Karell---half Kathryn,... More »
Laura
This is the first thing I've written in awhile that wasn't pretty much sheer prose with poetic underpinnings. I had the idea for it last time I was over in Monroe, where I grew up.... More »
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