Liza Zitelli Grabowski

Quiet Sunday Two hundred and seventy days later, my lips won’t disclose the ulcer. White diamonds through the trees in my backyard. Radio...

Going Places You reach up and press your own personal flashlight. Your feet kick your bag from underneath the seat and you reach down,...

Dear John: The Villanelle I love you, but I know I can’t go back to long white fingers wrapped around my wrists. If, one by one, my bones...

Today, maybe because it was the year anniversary of COVID-19 being declared a global pandemic, I was thinking about my blogs of the past....