Author Archives: janishaag

(for the late, great Brian Hamlin, who bestowed the nickname,and for Linda, Jim and others who remember it) I might be the only woman in the worldwho loves her hair just as it (mostly) is,originally showing up curly and blonde,grownups … Continue reading →

It’s in freeping neon, my friend,and if that’s not a literal sign,I don’t know what is. I don’t care how old you are,how odd looking or soundingyou think you are: Someone you don’t yet knowis gonna love schlubby old youbecause—and … Continue reading →

You had to be careful when Grandmacame at you for a hug. She was whatwe called an enthusiastic hugger,which was lovely in its way, but, depending on her choice of jewelrythat day, you could end up with animprint in your … Continue reading →

Forgive me, Father,for I have committedthe (I hope) pardonablesin of not only payingfor a car wash, but not using my own two goodhands to wash Mother’scar, which I am usinga day a week to drive her places, but which I … Continue reading →

(for Henry) What set of miracles had to occurto set you in a backpack on yourthe back of your grandma, who ismy sister, we two who came throughyour great-grandma—our mama whosheltered us womb mates? And then your grandma made yourmama, … Continue reading →

Thank you, and yes, a splash of simileand two full teaspoons of metaphor,stirred with fresh images and not a little rhythm to bouncethe lines merrily along, so smoothlythat a reader finds herself effortlessly pulled along with everybit of nuance, not … Continue reading →

Leafless now, they arc and curve,swoop like stilled birds in midflight,statues of gnarly grace that have stood on this rise for generationsof men, cattle, birds, deer, creaturesof the earth. I come to walk hills freshly greeningafter the dry months, new … Continue reading →

Waltzing into the last day of this year,123123, we cannot help but look back and reflecton the woulda shoulda coulda’s. But we also cast a hopeful glance forward,123123, trying not to imagine the inevitablesadnesses, the potential falling aparts, the departures … Continue reading →

He rings the doorbell, twice,loudly, the old bell in the kitchensummoning me as if to a fire. But it’s Ernest come to offerhis hands for whatever taskshe thinks need doing—today clearing gutters and roof ofa forest of leaf litter. The … Continue reading →

She is bundled, as she often is nowadays,in puffy black vest and an equally puffy jacket,shoes on, ready to go when I arrive at 9. “Hi,” she says as I set down my stuff. “I’vebeen up since 5, and I’m … Continue reading →