Sarah Rossiter

Of course it doesn’t take all morning but it could, sitting by the river, hoping to capture the day on paper as the cartridge draws slowly, and water sings, and trees...

Here nothing moves, the water waiting, still as glass, amid the cattails’ silent stalks while over there across the sea, fire shreds the sky, exploding as...

One early spring in Illinois, startled by the foreign sight of pelicans upon dark water, we stopped to stare, my mother and I, at such ungainly awkward...

“The feather flew, not because of anything   in itself but because the air bore it along.”...

It’s a question of control, or should I say the lack of it in this fractured fear-filled world that draws me each free afternoon to focus on a wooden puzzle, solid, tactile,...

She was five when her mother left her At the movies with her baby brother and Never returned which could have been The end of the story though it’s not—...