May 24, 2018 | All Authors, Dana Robbins
Thirty years later, the memories come roaring back, in burning waves, like a stomach flu. Memories come unbidden when I am on the subway, in Macy’s buying pajamas or taking my children to school. The secrets I could not tell are the bile that collects...May 31, 2017 | Dana Robbins, Poetry
Her mother told the other mothers that my friend was a liar, so that whatever she said no one believed her. On sleepovers, her uncle crouched over our beds in the dark. Her mother changed my nightgown. You wet yourself, she said. I was nine, knew I was not a bed...