In 2004 I stopped reading books. I had just stopped smoking. I'd stopped smoking because I'd nearly completed writing a novella when
It was mid-summer, 1972, when I was 12 years old, that my parents sold our small row home on Clarion Street in
When John Thompson Morris of Philadelphia turned forty-four, he took early retirement from the presidency of his father’s Iron Works to pursue
When I was a junior in high school, I got a job at a flower shop. I worked there for almost five
On my last day of radiation, I sat eagerly awaiting my release from six months of treatment. In anticipation, my eyes scanned
Hearing Big Audio Dynamite or Tori Amos, I’m transported to the passenger seat in my brother Manny’s golden pickup truck when he
Frank Ewing only ever lets me into his place because he has to. It’s right there in the lease. “I ain’t ever
Grace and I met six months ago. Mutual friends who had been conspiring to get us together finally succeeded.
Nestled in the back corner of my classroom
The work submitted to Philadelphia Stories for this year’s Sandy Crimmins National Prize in Poetry was ambitious and exciting.
