Minima

As If by Dana Levin

Over weeks of daily bird-watching, he noticed a sharp decline in the numbers of brown thrashers and tufted titmice. . .

I mostly think I’m tethered to those sidewalks, and those cracks form an autobiography where the roses figure the concrete. . .

At night you hear it again, the thunder breaking the sky, the sky flinging complicated rain against the glass windows, threatening to come in. . .

In my dreams, I collect the shimmers scattered on the journey from body to body, like a fish that jumps from ocean to estuary, scales bright enough to notify the trees of their greenness. . .

MY BROTHER, IN EIGHT PANELS | DRIVING TO THE NORTH SHORE, I IMAGINE MY BROTHER

Over the cheery intermission music, Cole could hear Little One’s whistling breath through her nose. They watched as other families moved through the aisles like fish in a narrow aquarium, winding around one another. . .

GEOGRAPHY | LISTEN

Goodnight Moon | Harold and the Purple Crayon | The Going to Bed Book