Politics and the lies we tell about grief
byWhen we do not take grief seriously—our own and another’s—but merely cover its wounds with a garish fairy tale of winking soldiers cheering from…
violence
Necessary sounds
byDuring the war, ISIS set up camp in her father’s fields. The rebels fired rockets into town from their perches somewhere in the foothills….
A daughter’s perspective on the Kalamazoo cyclist tragedy
byCertain tragedies are so unbelievable, immediately soaking up the nation’s consciousness like a thirsty sponge, that they become synonymous with a community’s name. Think:…
Baboon bride
byThe summer I turned 16 was the summer of Sgt. Pepper, and I took a job as a zoo guide at Jungle Larry’s Safari…
On privilege and plunder
byMy small community at Kalamazoo Peace House has been reading Ta-Nehisi Coates’ new book, Between the World and Me (Spiegel and Grau, 2015). Structured…
Sounds like home
byWerner likes to crouch in his dormer and imagine radio waves like mile-long harp strings, bending and vibrating over Zollverein, flying through forests, through…
Melancholy Christmas
byWe moved to Three Rivers, Michigan, 13 years ago during a snowy winter to live in a cottage on Pleasant Lake. The cold arrived…
Healing our blindness
byAs I write, I’m sitting in my living room watching football on a Sunday evening. I just finished eating a meal made with organic…