Aine M. Greaney is a writer and can be reached at her self-titled site, Aine Greaney.
Last month, while spring cleaning my home-based office, I faced off with a bookshelf full of past writing journals.
Get rid of them (I coaxed myself). Whatever you wrote here is history now.
My inner packrat resisted. Couldn’t I just box them up and move them to the basement to join all those other journals that, together, chronicle my three-plus decades of living in the United States?
One gray-covered notebook with pink post-it …
I spotted her on the opposite sidewalk, standing right next to the idling police cruiser. Petite. Brunette. Late 80s and leaning over her red walker as she stared, transfixed, as the EMTs eased her husband into the back of the ambulance.
A few minutes earlier, one of the many sidewalk onlookers had explained: “Poor old man was just crossing the street. Someone said he’d just gone to buy a bagel for …
I was standing behind my trolley in our local supermarket when, in my wallet, I came across that drawing of a human heart. In the miniature pen-and-ink composition, the heart is suspended between two birds’ wings.
At the bottom is a dateline: Opioid Vigil, October 19, 2012.
Memory is a slippery thing, but I recall the 20-something artist as tall and rangy. At that opioid vigil, he sat behind the exhibit table, …
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