Topics | Parents | The Sun Magazine #3

Topics

Browse Topics

Parents

Readers Write

Dirt

Shining shoes, spreading gossip, growing plants in prison

By Our Readers December 2023
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

His Body Of Work

I loved my father’s body. It worried me, too. . . . I didn’t know what polio was, but it sounded scary, and he had survived it. This helped form my view of him as someone who could survive almost anything. Like Wile E. Coyote, he might get hurt and maimed, but he never, ever gave up.

By Doug Crandell November 2023
Poetry

This Little Bit I Am Trying To Hold

Poems About Departures

Listen to the poets in this month’s special poetry section read their poems about leaving and letting go. To listen, click the play button below each title in the article.

 

I will leave you, / and I will / leave the sudden // darkness of afternoon thunderstorms / and I will leave / the rain and its patience in shaping mountains

from “I Will Leave,” by Michael Bazzett

 

I am here to translate my father’s death / into fruit. Something that can be held. To bring / it up to your lips the way I spooned strawberry / yogurt up to his and said to him the word “Eat.” / There was no use, in the end. There was no hunger.

from “I Did What I Could to Keep This,” by Peter Markus

 

Tonight, because all matter is dissolving, you & I / are being gradually undressed by the universe — // silk & wool molecules mingling with cells / rising from skin like souls

from “Everything,” by Terry Lucas

By Michael Bazzett, Peter Markus & Terry Lucas November 2023
Readers Write

Gratitude

A second chance at work, a shared meal in the classroom, a helpful stranger at a rest stop

By Our Readers November 2023
Poetry

The Patron Saint Of Airport Sparrows

Now that I make the frequent arrivals / and departures of a child who grew up / and moved away from his parents, / who grow older and sicker and smaller / between visits, I feel too sad to read / while I wait for boarding to start

By James Davis May November 2023
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Nail Salon

Some people remember childhood bike rides and ice-cream sundaes; I remember acetone and moon-slivers of nails.

By Gabrielle Behar Trinh October 2023
Poetry

Elegy With Adding Machine And Milk

One cold November day / after the lambs were sold / and the wheat brought in, / my grandfather settled / himself at his desk / and punched the numbers / into an electromechanical / adding machine, the gears / whirring and cachunking, / a long white ribbon pooling / on the dusty linoleum

By Joe Wilkins October 2023
Readers Write

The American Dream

An Indian immigrant, an oil-company man, a bicycle-riding nomad

By Our Readers October 2023
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Fire

A chair flies through your window and someone’s screaming for you to come out and you’re fourteen and he’s twenty and there’s nowhere to go and no cops coming and no one to make this any better, and you become a flame that can’t be extinguished.

By Daniel Donaghy October 2023
Poetry

Smoke Memories

My mother and I were alone the night / our house burned down. I was nine that summer, / and the smell of smoke clung to my clothes. / And after the fire a tree in the yard / grew crooked with scoliosis, its back bending / away from the remains of the house.

By Doug Ramspeck October 2023