By Kathleen Spivack
I am walking with my father in the mountains, high above the tree line. He is telling me about leaving Europe during “The War”…Yet there are secrets he has never spoken of. But today in Rocky Mountain National Park, he is seventy years old and sports a cowboy hat and shirt and
by Kathleen Spivack
She combats loneliness with writing.
For many years I was alone and I found that—but I am already putting it in past tense. So—for many years I’ve been alone and I find—what? Find that it doesn’t get any easier? Find that I’m writing my way right into another cliche? Let’s try again. As
by Kathleen Spivack
Lives of quiet desperation are sometimes not what you think.
The empty rocking chair echoed slowly, its arc poised in mid air. The chair’s body still held the motion of another’s warmer body. The seat back and curved arms molded themselves around the memory of the weighted flesh by whom they had been
