Everything that Rises
September 18, 2017Report by Steven Volynets
Admitting you are a writer at Wheeler’s is like admitting to folding origami or shopping at the Whole Foods.
Admitting you are a writer at Wheeler’s is like admitting to folding origami or shopping at the Whole Foods.
I’ve learned to live among the blooming trees, Sunday church traffic, and love of bacon.
We were so blind that, in the name of righteousness, we committed our own ethical and moral atrocities.
When I asked about your tea selection, what I really meant to say was Goddamn you’re pretty.
Something essential, something dangerous, loomed in this war and deserved the light of literary day.
A schmaltzy, eerily familiar tune that loops along, accordions swelling and shrinking, high-heeled, lipsticked women la-la-la-la-la-la-ing.
No political group fully represents my views. I’m a bridge person.