This Will Be the Last Time
bythe cat lies on my lap while my father is still alive. No use forgiving rock for being rock or white clouds always passing…
illness
Gathering clouds
byFor several years, my 90-year-old mother has dreaded the approach of winter. She lives in wool sweaters, pockets stuffed with tissues. She wraps in…
Stigma
byEditor’s Note: Each Thursday, we feature a throwback piece from Topology’s predecessor, catapult magazine. This essay, published in 2011, has always stuck with me….