Writings
A Bunch of Felonies
You know, that’s what my sockeyetrist told me. “Catherine,” he said, “you’ve got a person in you, another person besides you, and that person is all the time telling you, ‘Catherine, you’re no good, Catherine, you can’t do thus and that.’ And you are trying to become yourself, but that
Raymond Carver, Remembered
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
The Persistence of Doors
I was four years old, and we lived on the top floor of a fisherman’s house in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. I could see the ocean from my window, and our landlord often brought us fresh seafood. My father, a USAF radar operator, worked lots of seven day weeks and double shifts because of the Cold
Infinite Passion
“There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the infinite passion of life.” Federico Fellini
Iranian Revolution 2026
In the old bazaars of Shiraz—where once the merchants weighed saffron by the gram—the fires now illuminate not spice, but anger. A boy, barely sixteen, lights a rag in a glass bottle. He’s not a thug, he’s a student who hasn’t seen meat in months. He’s not burning the bank for fun—he’s burning it for
The Persistence of Doors
I was four years old, and we lived on the top floor of a fisherman’s house in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. I could see the ocean from my window, and our landlord often brought us fresh seafood. My father, a USAF radar operator, worked lots of seven day weeks and double shifts because of the Cold
Infinite Passion
“There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the infinite passion of life.” Federico Fellini
Iranian Revolution 2026
In the old bazaars of Shiraz—where once the merchants weighed saffron by the gram—the fires now illuminate not spice, but anger. A boy, barely sixteen, lights a rag in a glass bottle. He’s not a thug, he’s a student who hasn’t seen meat in months. He’s not burning the bank for fun—he’s burning it for
Healing Through Poetry Fundraiser
Our Mission Poetry Heals improves our community’s mental health by providing expressive writing workshops and tools. The concepts emphasized are: We will use raised funds for operating support, mentor salaries, and additional programming. Just click on the link below to learn more about Poetry Heals and how to contribute. Fundraiser by Poetry Heals: Healing Through
Has the Dusting Been Done Up in Heaven?
Has the dusting been done up in heaven? If it hasn’t, there’s one thing I know good and well: You’re clipping the wings of those damn lazy angels And telling them all about going to hell; Do they run a tight ship up in heaven? Do they keep to their word and not waste a