Between her legs the bale of sodden rag is cold. She carries it always: her curse, her shame, slung about her hips like a stillborn child bound to her as penace.
The architectural critic and photographer John Margolies (1940–2016) saw there could be home-made beauty in the buildings and signs locals built on the American roadside. For almost forty years, he documented the most remarkable examples he found, publishing some of his discoveries in books and consigning the rest to an archive, which has now been purchased by the Library of Congress who, in a wonderfully gracious move, have lifted all copyright restrictions on the photographs. From Public Domain Review.
The Bright Green Door
I’ve never heard my father speak. When I dream of his voice, it sounds like the work he does. Out comes hammering or sawing or digging. In my dreams, I understand what those sounds mean.
In the House with the People (and other stories)
When our son was still an infant, we ran into the emotionless man on the street. You protectively wrapped your arm around me and our son snuggled against my chest.