June 30, 1968

Now That the Sun Has Gone Down

Taking the Journey

The Mourning Before the End
The most important thing my Grandmother White taught me—she never spoke in words. If a person had put a glass in front of my grandmother and asked her if it was half-full or half-empty, I think she would've been too preoccupied by the fact that the glass was dirty and would have to be washed to ans

The Meaning of Life
The checkout clerk scowled, slid my bread, apples, and tampons across the scanner. Blip. Blip. A monotone reminder of how much money she probably wasn’t getting paid.She had dark circles under eyes and did not look up when I stepped forward. There was no cheery, “How are you today? Did you find everything all right?”I’m not sure how old she was, but she looked like she was in her late forties. Unkempt, penny-red hair, skin pale from working long hours inside, a pair of glasses probably purchased from the eye care center just a few feet from where we stood. Her movements were slow, like she was moving through water.The rest of the line inched forwa

A Genealogy of Blood and Place
On humid summer nights, after the birds have flown into trees and folded their wings, the true natives of Northwest Ohio infiltrate the darkness. They creep through the cracks in windows. They use stealth to prey on unprotected victims. They have a claim on this land that predates the Indian tribes whose names mark this place: Wyandot, Seneca, Maumee, Ottawa, Huron. Theirs is a prehistoric possession, thawed out of the glacier that carved this region into a Great Black Swamp thousands of years ago. We who live here now are their birthright.Their high-pitched song whines like the wheeze of a slumbering giant. The Great Black Swamp lives in the bloodline