Marni Asplund-Campbell

Rhythms

My father’s heart is strong and scarred, bound in spots by thread, a delicate patchwork of veiny fabrics. I imagine, when I talk to him on the telephone, his physical presence. I can hear his…

For My Father, 1934-1990

Have you noticed, then, that sound moves
differently in fall—such falling
of leaves, a fall
from warmth and

Sariah

She’s not Abraham’s Sara,
who laughs and talks
to angels
as if the state of her womb

For the Girl Who Saw Her Mother Cold

July twenty-third in the canyon is
almost like hell-fire—sulfurous hot
waves off the powdery earth while
the children play in the trees,

C. Thomas Asplund: Quiet Pilgrim

I am not a historian. But my limited exposure to the discipline tells me that writing history involves arriving at definitions of “eras,” “cultures,” and “movements.” In my work in literary theory, I have been…

Articles

Rhythms

For My Father, 1934-1990

Sariah

For the Girl Who Saw Her Mother Cold

C. Thomas Asplund: Quiet Pilgrim