American Girl
It’s 6pm on a Sunday when Brittany calls to tell me about the mealworms.| Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction
It’s 6pm on a Sunday when Brittany calls to tell me about the mealworms.| Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction
Práta means potato, child. Prátaí póir are seed-potatoes best planted on Good Friday. Iomaire is a potato bed and taobhfhód its own particular sod. Bachlóga are potato sprouts; millíní are the buds. Báinseog phrátaí is a patch of potatoes in bloom, lovelier than you might think.| Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction
“Deprivation is for me what daffodils were for Wordsworth.” —Philip Larkin| Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction
Listen: On this night, the house is an organ, an orchestra, a bellowing storm. The stream roars under a bridge and balconies, channeling into rapids, leaping and crashing onto boulders below. Nothing is silent this night—forested as dusk without sun, cloaked by rain that thunders as if to announce water is coming to find the path of least resistance, to find her way home.| Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction
You stand on the deck of a forty-four-meter wooden pinisi-rigged boat somewhere in the Flores Sea, close to where the Komodo dragons live. A brochure claims that this boat, the Ombak Putih, was made by hand in accordance with the traditions of the South Sulawesi people. You will spend the next five days on board.| Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction
