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Tag Archives: M. J. Iuppa
Sitting here, on this paint-peeling bench, with two squirmy kids eating sloppy cones, and three tethered dogs standing guard, waiting for my signal. I’m wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, so I can be distracted without anyone knowing how I count … Continue reading
First days of summer, small plates to share; shimmering white wine glasses full of tonal ambiguity—it’s poetry. They know their limits, and get very close to admitting that this beet salad with its bright orange slices, goat cheese, and nasturtiums … Continue reading
Past dinghy storefronts, past doorways with broken thresholds, a girl wearing rain boots stomps through puddles; her green backpack stuffed with sticks the width of thumbs—her left fist wrapped around a bunch of just picked daffodils. She’s going somewhere—her cheeks … Continue reading
Slumped in a straight-backed chair, she squints at her phone’s screen, scrolling for tragedies to comfort her. She likes to imagine what she would do when the whole world would know her terrible story. She practices saying the right thing … Continue reading
In a sun-filled room that was full of afternoon shadows and raw wood, a barefooted man picked up his acoustic guitar and played a tune you knew by heart—those sad notes plucked in the comfort of his quiet lap. How … Continue reading
This is the third day of sun. First warm morning in ninety-six days, but who’s counting. I’m still wearing one of my baggy sweaters over my night gown. I am not cold. I am freezing, holding my clay mug close … Continue reading