The Moon Don’t Care This old house, a rattle of bones, settles in for the night— the lights of its...
A Dedication to Drowning Stretched like a drum a coating of me covers my skeletal frame. For now, I am...
Crescent was getting more than a bit familiar with me. First it was my fingers, then the seams and zipper...
So be it, unto us all – Written in memory of Eadie, my wonderful rabbit, died aged 11, Feb. 13,...
There are no blue plaques in our village, no Heaney or Shackelton or Yeats to commemorate. A notable event is...
Watch David Lynch read his essay “Family Farm Survivor,” or read the text below. Family Farm Survivor, by David...
It was a struggle for her, getting around to the back of the house this morning to gather up the...
Along the upper Spoon River, 1935 When they found him at last, he was face down in a pool of...
Thomas Dunne published “The End of a Farm” in the Milwaukee Journal in 1994. After the piece, he reflects on the article...
The clouds of fugitive dust from the dirt roads were blowing back across his windshield, obscuring his vision. He almost...
“Why don’t you sit down for a while, Son.” I paused. The snow still clung tough to the ground, but...
Dark turf The breeze stirred ferns on the high bank. I watched you drop down the layers of Cloneen bog, then...