MIA KERNAGHAN

Who am I without the man who taught me to chop sardines into a pan of tomato sauce and let it simmer lightly? It was always his recipe I...

On Wednesday, I’m there watching the washing machine spin those blue clothes in slow circles, sitting across the table from a man who’s...

No, I’m not afraid of her name anymore. Not afraid of each cutting syllable, it’s shiny veneer, and everything it once meant to me. I’m...

I think about my mother eating alone, cooking in the kitchen where her bedroom's also fashioned, sitting at that wrought iron table she...

She looked at my face and said but who are you? I found myself back in that old blue house on Londonderry Lane, looking at my mother...

Here’s the same flint and stone flame that never seems to finish, that caustic shame I always feel but can never control, that cruel yet...