Martha Rhodes

All the soups I've made in my life— slow-cooking easy broths, red thick pureed blends. Churning it all up alone in my kitchen, tasting, covering, uncovering, remembering spat-out carrots pinched between Mother's fingers and pressed back into my mou [...]

Seventy-three years ago he lay belly up on the rented bearskin rug, stared at the penny stuck on his Mama's nose, and screeched. He used to hang beside the bed in my first apartment until one boyfriend complained, "Your father's giving me the creeps [...]

She loves especially the Cha Cha Cha, her right foot crossing her left in a daring twist. And sometimes she tangos wall to wall across the room. This makes her laugh. She knows she isn't graceful. She shuts her eyes to mirrors and any shiny surface. [...]

Whose room is this? What lucky soul's bedroom has a lake deep as my closet and a bed canopied by a willow tree? I like sleeping in shade. Mother's hand on my forehead is a blessing, no malice in my heart. Pneumonia, pneumonia, just what I dreamed, l [...]