Category Archives: creative nonfiction

Beavertail

At the bottom of Conanicut Island in Narragansett Bay, at the southern end of the village of Jamestown, is a lighthouse on a spit of land with a funny shape.  It must have been named after aerial mapping came into … Continue reading

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A my name is

Alice is old fashioned.  None of the girls in my school were named Alice, though we did have a family friend with an Alice, six years older than me.  Her sister was Emily, and my mother told me they had … Continue reading

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Not an important part of the house

The back entry is cramped and haphazard, a bent coat rack pushed in under high cupboards, an old bureau with drawers that won’t open full of mittens, scarves and unused kitchen utensils. A worn door mat fills most of the … Continue reading

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L is for Lena

Her real name is Lenore, but in college a punk singer named Lene Lovich inspired us to redub her Lena. She was game, and it stuck. When she lived in Japan, Lena was easier to pronounce than Lenore, so it … Continue reading

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Her Name Begins with J

We were bad friends. She hung up the phone on me. I corrected her when she mis-sang song lyrics. We fought and spent too much time together. Even though she was short and plump and I was tall and flat, … Continue reading

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I is for me

I is for me. The first person narrator, which is me. I am I. Or am I? I try. Which I am I? The angry teen I? That’s an easy I to slip into. She’s fun to write, though being … Continue reading

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Going Home

I dreamt about my house again last night. As the dream often goes, turns out my parents never actually moved out, or they moved out but then moved back in, because they couldn’t sell it. All the old stuff is … Continue reading

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