Exceptional
marci madary My Grandma was 98 ½; she died on my grandpa’s birthday. He had left this world 5 ½ years earlier. Cognitively engaged until...
Witness
by Marci Madary My desk faces the back of our third-floor condo where I frequently gaze over my computer screen into the branches of all...
A Widow Poem
Is a widow ever not a widow anymore? Is a mother ever not a mother? Even if, God forbid, all her children die? In the sensation of the...
Painfully White
Privilege. Privileges. Privileged. Sounds almost like it can be earned, like I did something – deserved. So seductive, this fallacy. Then...
Enough.
My refrigerator is full, my cupboards far from bare. Is that enough? I have sheets for my bed, a pillow for my head. Is that enough? I...
Easter Morning
Crimson splatters on white robes, protein and plasma: essence of life, thick with the stench of death. Violence touches his skin, his...