Tag Archives: Eliza Browning

Stateside

On Mondays, we eat Chinese food and pray for sleep to come fast and well. When it does we drift off with bellies full of noodles instead of fish eyes or cash, green that balls up inside and makes me … Continue reading

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Bennington

At the line where the land meets the sea there’s nothing, not even a pocket of smoke for my fingers to latch on to. I trace the edges of the skylight with my tongue, try to fit in words for … Continue reading

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In Western Mass

When you leave the rain starts up again. Here’s the thing about despair – it just sits there, unblinking. On the green Chinese rug in the living room. In its own baby-sized coffin in the parlor. In the kitchen with … Continue reading

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