The man across the table glared at Howard Collins and said, “Hey, I pay your salary, dude. You have no right to hold out on me. You know damn well I’m allergic to Tramadol. I need Percocet. I’m in pain! Can’t you see that?” Howard considered the irony. He had spent several years and $140,000 […]
For every single mother working three jobs. . . . Read More »
It had been pouring rain all morning at Windansea Beach on the San Diego coastline. Cynthia Perez stood under a thatched hut of desiccating King Palm fronds that stood just twenty yards from the water near a group of smooth, caramel-colored rock formations. Perfect A-frame waves broke there all day long, converging into one sharp
I wake up angry with Raymond Carver(whom I love, who is long dead and cannot suffer my anger,cannot even pour me gin or offer cigarettes),for bestowing literary domain on Tess Gallagher.Tess had nothing to do with it.She showed up late to his curly, black hair and meticulous prose. It was Maryann, who traded her sixteen
I Wake Up Angry with Raymond Carver: For Maryann Burk Carver Read More »
For those who weren’t writing back in the nineteen eighties, it’s hard to imagine what a broad shadow Raymond Carver cast across the writing world. His work, and articles about him, seemed to appear everywhere, including The Paris Review, Atlantic, Poetry, and The New Yorker. In his final year, 1988, he was inducted into the
Raymond Carver, Remembered Read More »
Having a child was the most beautiful experience of my life. But it seems they are never satisfied. For example, Arnulfo. When they found that I was going to have a child, right away they assumed that I would marry the father. “Linda,” they said. “Have you thought how Arnulfo and you can live? What
God Wanted Arnulfo to Marry Me Read More »
“Welcome to gladiator school,” I tell a freshly transferred inmate as smoke from a fire in the cell block fills the corridor and ten of my fellow guards trod by in heavily armored riot gear. We pick him up off the ground, and I note his terror and confusion. This place, buried behind endless layers of concrete
Reflections of a Former Federal Corrections Officer Read More »