by James B. Nicola I heard my mother’s voice today. Thanksgiving weekend. Ten years this January. My nephew played a very loving voice mail message from her he has kept on his cell phone ten years. My brother said he has kept three such messages. My nephew said he had another one and wept awhile. It made…
by Gil Hoy I. I see you, Walt Whitman, an American Rough, a cosmos! I see you face to face! I see you and the nameless faceless Faces in America’s ageless crowds of men and women who you saw in your mind’s eye. I see you crossing the river on…
