Rosemary Leach

Lying in bed this morning I asked Jake, “Do you know anyone you’d call Mythic? I mean someone your own age.” “What do you mean by ‘mythic’?” he asked, putting on his belt. “Well, like Mr. Elms.” Mr. Elms was Jake’s grade 6 teacher who figures dramatically in Jake’s internal lore. “Steve Jobs.”. “No, I mean someone you actually know.” I’d just emerged from a satisfying dream that I was at the Minde’s house. As a teenager I spent a good deal of time at my boyfriend’s place. The

A year and a half ago a friend says to me, “You know I think you’d really like Guanajuato.”. We were at a concert and I wrote the name of the city in the back of one of my many journals, alongside some recommended book titles and TED talks. By February I had followed his advice and was sitting on a rooftop terrace in Guanajuato, cultivating an absurd fantasy about living there with my family… as if life as an artist/writer couple weren’t enough hurdles. Wandering the maze of