The girl & I ate spaghetti
and carrot sticks
and we colored with crayons
mazes & Pokémon & cats
and rainbows & shooting stars
and then I gave her a bath,
which is the easiest way to
look at my phone
while I’m on duty.
| We said a prayer for the rats and fleas as the plague abated. We laid a wreath for Justinian. The streets of London were no longer smoke-choked, just smoking, and Rome started to smell more like Rome. At least whoever remembered “before” said as much. In the last days of the plague, the days that followed the days that had been called “last,” we made a sport of showing up at restaurants where we had never been beautiful enough to get a table, just to see if people still ate at tables, or if the food tasted like anything. We appeared at the homes of our favorite people to see if they were around, too, or if they had changed, or if they could be unchanged. We moved slowly through the halls of near-empty museums, each of us indistinguishable from the art, to be touched only with the eyes from a safe Kantian distance. As the plague’s grip on our lives slackened, we slackened too, like a body pretending it can will itself back into sleep. We prepared for travel, arranged our documents, scheduled shots. We packed—clothes, books—and packed—the spider plant with all its apostles, anything that might spoil in our absence—and kept on packing. It didn’t matter that we had no idea where we were going. This time we would be more careful to leave none of ourselves behind. |
After years without a single dream
of my dead son, he walks into
the living room where I am standing
at the window and holds me tightly
—after “Environment for Three Overweight Parakeets”
You thought you were seeking beauty
in that plain, little box. Fixed your face
to the aperture. Inside, a chaos
of swimming through stones, doll arms cocked
So simple is the soul
a house finch can haunt its innermost
ever, not for an hour, not for an era, but a
different kind of forever, as in, as in,
as in the dream of an infinite lever, & a lamb
lifts up a mountain by stepping on the end
of an endless branch propped beneath
the stone—. That dream—. Of the long ago
then, a sort of once-upon-a-
time, when the pear sang out the finch’s tune
& desire began again its how-to-
see, how-to-hear, mystery burden so hard
to bear—. Then God was a word
for the perfection that no one could name—.
A new year of trees, and in the yard
the rosemary is trying to live again,
its spines broken, darkened from the frost.
I don’t know whether to water it
or leave the plant to fortune.
Sometimes my love can drown a thing.
Transcript: Liz DeWolf Podcast.
Liz DeWolf speaks to Emily Everett about her story “Ex Situ,” which appears in The Common’s spring issue. The story follows an American living in Istanbul, navigating the end of a relationship, and the appeal and alienation of living abroad in a layered, complex city. She also discusses her process and revision methods, the themes she often returns to, and her work as a nonfiction book editor.
Transcript: Lauren Delapenha Podcast
LAUREN DELAPENHA speaks to EMILY EVERETT about her poems “Supermarketing” and “If You Are Learning English,” which appear in The Common’s spring issue. Lauren also discusses her process and revision methods, her time at the Disquiet Literary Program in Lisbon, and how balancing both teaching and writing challenges her.
Lauren is a Jamaican poet and English teacher. She earned her master’s in creative writing from the University of Oxford, and her work has received an Oxbelly Fellowship, a Helen Zell and Jamaica Poet Laureate’s Young Writers Prize for Poetry, a Grindstone International Poetry Prize, and two Pushcart nominations. She currently lives and teaches in Connecticut.
Read Lauren’s poems in The Common at thecommononline.org/tag/Lauren-Delapenha.
Learn more about her work at laurendelapenha.com.
The Common is a print and online literary magazine publishing stories, essays, and poems that deepen our collective sense of place. On our podcast and in our pages, The Common features established and emerging writers from around the world. Read more and subscribe to the magazine at thecommononline.org, and follow us on Instagram, Bluesky, and Facebook.
Emily Everett is managing editor of the magazine and host of the podcast. In 2025 her debut novel All That Life Can Afford was a Reese’s Book Club pick, and her work appeared in The New York Times Modern Love column. Previous publications include the Kenyon Review, Electric Literature, Tin House, and Mississippi Review. She was a 2022 Massachusetts Cultural Council Fellow in Fiction.
Transcript: Juliet McShannon Podcast.
Juliet McShannon speaks to Emily Everett about her story “Rescue,” which appears in The Common’s spring issue. The story follows a woman on her search for a lost dog through a neighborhood very different from her own, and explores ideas of loss, class, community, and healing. Juliet also discusses how her childhood in Apartheid South Africa, and young adulthood practicing law during the time of transition that followed, has shaped her writing.
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