The WriteAngles Journal

By Tim Parker Somehow, as a guy from a small New England town who ultimately became an aerospace engineer, I found myself center stage before the Apollo 11 launch in 1969 for the first lunar landing. Standing in front of a myriad of press microphones and cameras under the hot lights at Cape Canaveral in […]

By Sarah Whelan Though it’s been twenty years since her death, I feel like I’m still learning about the woman I called “Mémère.” When I was younger, my grandmother was a simple person to understand. She was patient and kind — never critical or judgmental. No word of complaint ever left her mouth – even

By D. K. McCutchen I was dancing in the Land of the Long White Cloud. Just dancing. The Otago Zoology Department dress code seemed to be dowdy nightgowns and frayed tweed. My eye was on the one other outsider stomping out a Haka in black motorcycle leathers (dear reader, I married him).  An almost-friend burst

By Marty Damon My grandfather’s big white-washed brick house in Oklahoma was where I spent much of the summer during my pre-air conditioning childhood. My family drove across country from our home in Virginia, the hot summer wind whipping through the car. When our car finally pulled into the hotly shimmering slate-covered drive, my grandparents

By Laura Elizabeth Nelson O New York, my mistress, my summer lover How many times must we say Farewell? You take my hand, pull me into your blistered masses You ask me to remove my shoes And I do I follow you I walk along in bare feet across tapestries woven In blood in dreams

By Patricia Lee Lewis Uncle Blake, red nose, bright hooded eyes, that funny smell I now know was booze, I was crazy about you. You can drive this thing, Sugar, of course you can, with those long legs of yours. Just git up on that seat and push the pedals. I need some help down