Philomena’s Daughter

She is not benign. She has riven my nights with sighs— Clings, delicious, to the memory of young men leaping at the edge of day from high school windows into St. John’s cemetery: above the abattoir, the mills, the stink of smelter fumes rending Manayunk’s hills in 1929. Manayunk—Lenni Lenape Indian name “where we goContinue reading “Philomena’s Daughter”