by Chris Dungey With first light and all through the bitter day, a dandelion lint of snow settles. Each filament gathers dust bunnies loath to press flat those beneath. For the first time in a month, a man stands in a mirror knotting a tie that has no silk-screen Santa monogram or carol button. A neighbor’s dog heralds an approaching…
by Perle Besserman First: What I love most about writing is being visited by characters who invite themselves onto the stage of my mind (or heart, or imagination, or dream life, or whatever you choose to call that place that is no actual “place” but is more real than the…
