May 18, 2015 / Creative Writing
Brigid Andrews writes about the trauma of birthing and postpartum depression.
Though we’ve never heard the word before,
Dad calls this fort we’ve built “The Delf.”
It’s just three two-by-fours in branches,
Covered in thick plywood. And I learned
A second word today from Dad
When a beam fell, hit his head, and
“Shit!” slipped from his mouth. He points out
White pellets on the ground below.
He says owls vomit
Out their food each night—
It comes out white.
I perch, a little owl,
Tasting my new words.
About the Author
Timothy E.G. Bartel
Timothy E. G. Bartel is a husband, writer, and educator from Whittier, California. He currently lives in Edinburgh, Scotland, where he conducts postgraduate research on Henry Longfellow. His work has recently appeared in Christianity and Literature, Relief, and Saint Katherine's Review.
Brigid Andrews
May 18, 2015 / Creative Writing
May 18, 2015 / Creative Writing
Nicholas Samaras
December 17, 2012 / Creative Writing
December 17, 2012 / Creative Writing
In “Prayer, Insisting,” the poet Nicholas Samaras’s aching meditation on his own metonia, or repentence, is couched in an ancient prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.