They paid the undertaker a bribe to allow them to bury the father under the boulders of the island. He had been an impenetrable, cold, man, but they knew how much he loved this sea-beaten patch of earth. Peter took up the craft –and it was a craft, tending the
She wore her smile as a kind of responsibility –in the kitchen, in bed, in the dining room. The only time she didn’t smile, which corresponded directly to when she felt most free, was in her garden with the monarda, the apple tree, the chamomile. But her husband'
One evening last summer I watched the bats come out in a Philadelphia park. I could see the blood orange sky visible through the thin skin of their wings. They looped the air between trees, where the sky pooled, diving sideways to catch a single fly. They came out, in
The L.A. fires prompt a strange reunion between a coyote and a river. By 3am the freeway would open wide, empty of traffic, a high meadow riven with tire indentations and residues of tar. Warm on her paws. She would find trash bins with chicken bones and rotten fruit.
I visited Ireland for the first time this October, flying through the night from Philly to Dublin. When I arrived it was 11 in the morning – rainy and warm. I had a few hours until my train to Westport. Dublin seemed coated in a gray film that muted colors and
This is On the Moon, a strange place where Nat (me) will share their writing. You can subscribe while I get my shit together on this website. My main plan is to send newsletters if you'd like to receive regular dispatches from me on the moon.