By Nicole M. Taylor
Date of publication: November 28, 2012
Vox ipsa et frigida lingua,
"Ah! miseram Eurydicen," anima fugiente, vocabat;
"Eurydicen," toto referabant flumine ripae.
—Virgil
E’en then his trembling tongue invok’d his bride;
With his last voice, "Eurydice," he cried,
"Eurydice," the rocks and river banks replied.
—Dryden
By Randall Silvis
Date of publication: February 28, 2012
We lived in the country in a small yellow house, with large yards in the front and back, woods on all sides, our closest neighbors a half mile away and as eager to be left alone as we were. The exterior of the house was in need of painting and there was only one chair in the living room but we seldom had visitors then and one chair was all we needed when we sat holding one another in the evening while listening to music. We had a big, frisky and sometimes obtrusively affectionate Irish Setter named Berrigan, who on hot summer afternoons when we sunbathed behind the house never failed to warn of the approach of a meter reader or salesman, and who with his resonant growl would keep the intruder at bay until we could pull on our clothes and prepare ourselves for the world again.
By Jim Daniels
Date of publication: January 26, 2011
I remember only one vacation in my sixteen years on Planet Detroit, though my parents had photographic evidence of me as a baby on the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes looking marooned, disconsolate, in the middle of all that sand. It could’ve been the surface of the moon, a photo doctored like my father claimed they did at NASA.
