By JP Miller   It was 1969 when my mother and I moved to Edisto Island. I had graduated from an insignificant high school in Charleston and we were suddenly poor. My father had left my mother for a younger…

By: JP Miller Looking down at the smallness of the world from atop a mountain will put time and distance in perspective. Iraq was a world away. And, in the light and color of the hills, the sky really put…

By: JP Miller Jacob sat at the porch table, lunching on a tomato sandwich, and stared through the rusty screen door at June-bug. Carefully, tenderly, June-bug whipped the axe through the air and divided a log of oak into two…

  By JP Miller I’m sitting—no, reclining—in an oversized hospital chair at Ft. Kessler, Biloxi, Mississippi and dangling my legs over the thing, trying to get the energy to attempt a walk again. My right leg doesn’t want to work….

By: JP Miller Jack leaned carefully back in the white plastic chair, testing its strength. The dried, sun-bleached seat was thin and chipped, springy and withered. It cracked and moaned with his weight. He kicked off his sandals, leaned backwards,…