A Plate of Pandemic
Published Quarterly on the Solstices and Equinoxes
Creativity in a Time of Crisis
A hailstorm, damnit. That’s what it feels like. “Paging Allison Frame to Admitting”—oh, I dare you to page me again, Jessalyn. You work reception; receive something. I’ll decide when I come back there and you’ll stop paging me. Because this
2020-2021, Istanbul, Turkey, Earth I wake up from a deep nap, refreshed and renewed. Immediately check the time. It is almost 6 o’clock. At 8, the second lock-down will begin. I have two hours sharp. So sharp that
Sid’s father died at age fifty-seven after shoveling frozen wet snow from his buried car in order to get to a job he hated, only to find that he had dug out his neighbor’s look-alike car instead. The heart attack
Joy was thrilled when she learned that the grocery delivery service had stopped using cardboard boxes in favor of reusable plastic bags. Not that she would ever order from them again, not after the one time she succumbed and
When Margaret enters the basement playroom, she is not surprised by what she sees, but she is enraged nonetheless. Her three children, slumped here before her, have not cleaned. They have not even tidied. That is to say,
My Problem Monday, July 20, 3:00 p.m. CDT Arlene Whesker knocked. “Doing a wellness check, Henry,” she called out. I opened the cottage screen door. “We brought treats!” I’d met Arlene when she cared for my
Dear Friend, the message began, Apologies for this batch-addressed email, but it’s the most efficient way to quickly contact all of you. You’re reading it because you’re one of the many thoughtful people who, concerned for my safety and
I went to Mr. Altschuler’s store today to buy some herring. Everything in there reminds me of you, because for forty years you shopped there, bringing home tins of salmon, rye breads with cracking, seed-studded crusts, cabbage, leeks,