Soul at play

By Sonia Gernes

“This class has ruined me,” my student says. Our creative writing class is nearing midterm, and she sits in my office in her limp sweater and unwashed hair, looking both forlorn and accusing. “Before I was in your class, I wrote poems all the time,” she says. “They just flowed. Now I can’t write anything. I can’t even get anything started.” She’s on the verge of saying: ¬_And it’s all your fault!_ but she amends it and says, “And I’m not getting any sleep either!”…

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Edge of Eternity

By Sonia Gernes

We were not the friendliest of neighbors. When I was introduced to Betty Frost at a neighborhood picnic a few days before I moved into the house next to hers, she struck me as a gray ghost of a woman.

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