by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Michael McGrath At the start of the 1983 school year, after having failed to land a suitable teaching position following my graduation from university, I approached the high school where I’d been a student teacher about the possibility of volunteering as a coach. Because of my job at a…
by Michael McGrath When awakened by a telephone call at some ungodly hour, I’d like to think I’m not alone in my reaction to it. Throwing back the covers, I scramble out of bed, and when I finally locate my phone I’m hesitant to pick it up, automatically assuming that…
by Michael McGrath When I received my first report card in the fall of 1967, I was afraid to bring it home. Unlike most of my friends, who had a collection of As, Bs, Cs—and the occasional D—to show for their efforts, the only grade featured prominently on my card…