By: Ruth Deming My name is Hans Ulbrecht. At age eighty-nine I cry myself to sleep every night. I have never married. How could I? My kin would have the DNA of a once-despised Nazi assassin. When I was twenty-two,…

By: Ruth Deming No, it’s not in the family no, I’m not overweight no, I don’t drink soda or eat Tastykakes. It was the lithium that did it ruined my kidneys those impeccable filters that keep our insides clean Up…

By: Ruth Deming I sat on the living room floor studying the swatch books Perhaps we could carpet my bedroom with both the pink that was the color of a cat’s tongue and the lavender like ballooning pants worn in…

By: Ruth Deming She stood at attention watching the cars along Terwood Road Each year she grew a little taller better views the snowman with the silly stick arms the covered over swimming pool awaiting its day Tulip Tree took it…