Category: July-August 2020

Inside My Mother’s Mouth by AM Roselli

Last night the stars fell down and landed on my mother’s fingertip, specifically her right index finger where her dream occurred.

Here at the St. Thomas airport in mid-March, we feel the urgency of the transition, the awareness of how we position our bodies…

Four years from now, you will ask me what happened to the female presidential candidates.

No matter how bad it got between the two of you, your mother could always knit you a sweater.

I’m worrying about the planting schedule. Winter was so mild; did the farmers move up their timetable?

I grew up on trains. I attended college by train. I went to work by train. There was a station less than two blocks from my firehouse…

I spoon some batter for the ambode into my hands. Mom slaps my wrist, but I can’t resist as I watch her press the batter between her hands…

Skin has always come first, a sheath concealing that which is honest, sometimes dangerous.

The first thing I noticed were the tiny droplets of water that shone on his eyelashes.

…what is truthful is that the way that you remember it is how you have been constructed, no matter how minutely or profound that was.

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