I want to write about my mother’s life as if she is alive again, as if she never died. But I have not seen her in over twenty years. I have forgotten the way she used to hold her lips, the way she bent to retrieve small items from the floor, the way she looked at me when I had done something wrong. She’s been dead a long time. more...
Hunger Mountain Prize for Nonfiction 2015
The Appledorns are shoveling cow dung outside the barn on a day in late March when they see a Cortina skating up the icy hill to their farm.
"Looks like Mike's in a hurry,' Mr Appeldorn says, and he prods his wife in the butt with the pitchfork. 'Hustle up and get out there.' more...
I HAVE TASTED MUSKRAT
You Lose These, Fremantle Press 2011
Hendel remembers the way his father used to take his hand, before the arrival of the other, fake, son and he tugs his older sister Grunie’s skirt.
‘I want to go inside,’ Hendel says. ‘I’m freezing.’
The Apuan Alps in Tuscany are cold at night, even in May, but Grunie ignores Hendel, who can be demanding, and can hog their father’s limited attention.
‘Stop it,’ she says, shaking off his hand. ‘I’m listening to Dad’s story.’