Author: Jeanann Verlee

  • On the Nostalgia of Dried Apricots and Other Garbage

    This is a fierce piece of writing that hits like a sledgehammer: “The man I chose to wed is miles away in the next room weighing down the couch as he wrestles his way through another hangover, offering some caustic rebuke of my failures.” It reminds me of Gwendoline Riley’s First Love, but the text…