Silly Season by Margaret Fieland "Do you remember any jokes, Mom?" My six-year-old stares at me. Violinist at the Pearly Gates? Jesus golfing? Mathematician, physicist, and engineer? Nah. Anything we told each other as kids is politically incorrect. "Besides lightbulb... Continue Reading →
Window Dressing by Margaret Fieland Chalk it up to naivete, fecklessness, exhibitionism, or poor vision, but I never consider someone across 86th street, a street as wide as Madison Avenue could see into our building. "You live on thirteen?" Robert... Continue Reading →
Well, He Asked by Margaret Fieland one of those clueless questions at dinner with the whole family. A beat while I consider my answer. "I was gazing at Marie," drooling, but I don't mention that, "and I realized I wanted... Continue Reading →
Rant by Margaret Fieland I'm sorry for going off on you, spewing about unreasonable expectations, co-workers' incompetence, long hours, terminal fatigue, and never-ending crisis mode. I went to yoga and meditated. I'm calmer. But, man, lay off. Born and raised... Continue Reading →
Taking a Break by Margaret Fieland She hangs out by the side entrance, cell phone glued to her ear. White crocheted sweater clings to too thin ribs, flared, faded cotton pants descend to strappy high heeled sandals, lank hair held... Continue Reading →
Weather Report by Margaret Fieland The far side of the room might as well be Europe. I conjure morning's gray sky, stumble over backpack, piles of pillows tossed onto cold, bare floor. I need a new lamp. I knocked mine... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 