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July 2024Food has powers. It picks us up from our lonely corners and sits us back down, together. It pulls us out of ourselves, to the kitchen, to the table, to the diner down the block. At the same time, it draws us inward. Food is the keeper of our memories, connecting us with our pasts and with our people.
Jessica Fechtor
A teenage rite of passage, a prison barber, a husband’s unfamiliar face
By Our ReadersJuly 2024“To the Bone” is an ongoing photography project documenting daily life and work on a small family farm in the Hudson Valley. Emily, a single mother, manages their small farm with the help of her children. My intention is to explore the strength, dignity and love that keeps them deeply connected as a family, to each other and to their unique way of life on the farm.
By Maureen BeitlerJuly 2024His inability to tell me when he’s sick, the most baseline, possibly the easiest thing to express, means he isn’t expressing a million other needs that are harder to pin down: If his shoes are too tight. If his ear hurts. Once, my son was walking funny. When I looked at his foot, he had a bee stinger sticking out from his toe. Being a parent of a disabled child means I can’t assume anything. I am taking care of his needs, and if I miss a need he can’t express, I’m failing him. I’m always failing him.
By John VurroJune 2024Calling a 1-900 number, moving to the tropics, writing fan fiction
By Our ReadersMarch 2024She’ll replace me with another beloved one day, as children do, and if I don’t let her, I’ll have failed, a different failure than those nights she brings me books to read when I’m too tired.
By Erin HooverFebruary 2024It hasn’t happened yet: the awkward bloom / of my children’s bodies, the bathroom pin-lock / pushed in, the steady stream of marathon showers, / bolts of thick steam all shadowy blue.
By Jared HarélJanuary 2024I know that what we call hate is sometimes love that was pushed under a rock, love deprived of light and water. “Tell me to what you pay attention,” writes the philosopher José Ortega y Gasset in his book Man and Crisis, “and I will tell you who you are.” How much love is putrefying inside boys this very moment, starved for nourishment?
By Nicole Graev LipsonJanuary 2024Shining shoes, spreading gossip, growing plants in prison
By Our ReadersJanuary 2024A second chance at work, a shared meal in the classroom, a helpful stranger at a rest stop
By Our ReadersDecember 2023Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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