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Tag Archives: Amy Lerman
Because I wanted a new pair of Sasson jeans, I agreed when my best friend’s mom suggested I babysit for their new neighbors, my resume padded with several gigs over my fourteen years, plus the kids were little, which meant … Continue reading
Just across from the Embarras River, boys, their hair wet from swimming nearby gravel pits, ride the cemetery, careful not to tire recently-placed flowers while pedaling overgrowth and figure-eight paths from days before. When the sun starts to set, they … Continue reading
The poem I started disappears, and I can’t summon its lines; I don’t remember yet another password; my dental hygienist has moved; I don’t like my middle-aged stomach; Banana Republic needs better quality control because a purse-sized bottle just broke, … Continue reading
Everything will be in black and white the plates, the prairie dress his wife designed, Nick’s eyebrows, more black than white to match his chin-planed hair, the dissonant music’s discordance, even the hors d’œurves of caviar and sour cream. And, … Continue reading
I hope you won’t mind when I unzip your body and crawl inside. I promise to be quiet and gentle around your vena cava, settling into your cavity like one of the cats, so you’ll barely know I’m there. I’m … Continue reading
On the day that Mama Cass died, Dad and I drove along the curves of Brush Creek Road, past the Snowmass Rodeo grounds, my hair waving out the backseat window to the horses’ mimicking manes, then almost to Highway 82 … Continue reading
You know those applause signs that light up during television tapings? I think I need one in me, not to remind me to clap, but like an animal’s embedded microchip, to rescue when lost. This morning when I asked what … Continue reading
Drive by the bar we went to last night, so we can remember its name. Amy Lerman was born and raised on Miami Beach, moved to the Midwest for many years, and now lives with her husband and very spoiled … Continue reading