where the writers are

Condensation | Condensation

mary-wilkinson's picture
Dead Blue Bottle on window sill with wings stiff like baked parchment paper and the door reflected in the black glass beyond and if I dared look to the glass my face would be etched into the picture like a silent scream, a closed door. Seashells strewn from past summers blend with blue glass and...
mary-wilkinson's picture
I attempt not to write about the soup. I mean who wants to read about the Tuscan Bean Soup that I made today. About its fine qualities, about what it can do to a family in the middle of November when all is bleak and grim and dark and final. To say that it has magical qualities would be an...