By Maggie Kennedy “The orange tastes like a refrigerator,” my son says,spitting out his bite and pretending to gag,and though I have never tasted a refrigeratorI know what he means. The orange tastes like the plastic it was wrapped in.And though I have never eaten plastic,the conjured smell fills my…
by Linda S. Swanberg I look back upon you (child who made me what I am today) skein of potentiality—unwound thread of redeeming choices how could I have known my journey would be all the longer with no end in sight? nights up alone as a youth, I read by…
by Linda S. Swanberg Fredericksburg, Virginia (1953–1955) For “La” from “Ninna” In memory of Louise Swanberg, M.D. (1949–2014) firefly tips dazzle always out of reach hot breezes own Virginia nights I dream fireflies we mistake for stars all Fredericksburg asleep— town shut up, people gone home wide well of memory ripens…