My older brother told me
Chuang Tzu knew all along
he wasn't a butterfly




That her cat was well-behaved
wasn't the kind of information
he was seeking




Poster of the most dangerous creatures
on the wall where he measured
himself




 The builder's boots
 at their ease
on the sunny porch




Nowadays
the shrine maidens are always
on their phones




Just in my lifetime
a man walked on the moon
and another pretended to bend a spoon




The time spent 
waiting for the governor to call
in a movie I saw before




Also the work of the cosmos
children chasing bubbles
in the sun




Hampering her graceful efforts
to move him off the topic
of spindle shells




He's writing the secret history of sock drawers
and looking for a little
light clerical work




Strolling the aisles of the Dollar Tree
I picked up a gold sparkle
on my wrist

Chapter 1: The Current State Of Being

We live in a time where it would be difficult, extremely difficult, to live and lead a normal life.

Back in the day, the need for normalcy, decency and modesty in every area of Interests was being looked out for. The family, community, work-place and general society would prioritize character in relation to any engaged endeavor.

However, modern-day situations hold different narratives. What was seen as morally upright in the days of old is frowned today. What was seen as evil in the past is revered in the present. Being a person of integrity seems to portray limited relevance as it has been substituted with the exact opposite: deceit. From family to society, the culture of what was seen as “good character” has now become a complete shadow of itself. The pop culture of falsehood, which carries an aesthetic outlook, is given a warm embrace by vast majority of people in today’s world.

Consequently, it is without a doubt that the world of today is so wrong that what is left of it is not right and what should be right is not left!

Whatever led to such transition of value, has constituted the current state of being of most people of today, regardless of income bracket, status and even conviction.

Bottom line:

The Current State Of Being: Being abnormal is the new normal!

Poem 1: 

In Memory of Donald Vruwink (Senior)

Your almanac was always breathing.

The heart’s imaginary twin

Will die. “We’ll all be lovely then,” 

You’d say. My bones are done, done reading

The soil. A clever fever’s scribbling

Its high opinion of the moon

On it. We’ll all be lovely, then

We’ll banish imitation’s sibling. 

The death of plethora seems tawdry

When thunder darts the dirt with thin

Flashes. We’ll all be lovely, then

Tornados will be riding shotty. 

Poem 2:

In Memory of Sol Sheff

Words are like eyes; we often fail

To see a thing until it’s said. 

Each poem’s a mental pyramid

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

The rough perfection of a gull

You stewarded in Jacksonville.

And in Milwaukee, there’s a thrill

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

The sun’s ushabti may console

An Army corporal on the beach

At dawn. You gave a crippled speech

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

Poem 3:

In Honor of Louis Pasteur

“The picturesqueness of human thought may console us for its imperfection.”

–       George Santayana, The Sense of Beauty

Nobody honestly reports

On the beliefs of others. Wolves

Explain what alchemy involves

To beakers blackened by beaux arts. 

You said that men who run from warts

Are like a bear that runs from fish. 

And logic’s like a petri dish

To beakers blackened by beaux arts. 

Your era loved what love distorts…

One cannot trust the naked eye

Which craves the novel modesty

Of beakers blackened by beaux arts.

Poem 4: 

Blackguarding Merles

You mock a dahlia’s faith in rain

And March’s hieratic pain

In Wotan’s one good eye. I show

The only serious dog I know

The absence of a final task. 

(His bark becomes so plateresque.) 

Jocasta’s hardship melts the snow…

The only serious dog I know

Is on precocious wisdom’s trail.

Your apperception tugs his tail.

For Tiresias, you set aglow

The only serious dog I know. 

Poem 5: 

Schtupping Philosophy

After Mark Strand

“If only it were so easy to soothe hunger by rubbing an empty belly.” 

–       Diogenes the Cynic, on public masturbation

 “Qui veut faire l’ange fait la bête.”

–       Blaise Pascal, Pensées

Fear pats the propaganda on

Each head. Hate rubs the belly of

Hypocrisy. There’s Puppy-Love,

Schtupping Philosophy again. 

 “O, History, you’re not strapped for time,”

She moans while strapping me in wings.

Her drunken master drily sings:

“Schtupping Philosophy turns wine 

To dust!” When we extremes do meet

In bed, what’s born reveals our chains

And all but holy sweetness feigns. 

Schtupping Philosophy, one ought

To pause one’s speech, but not one’s thought. 

Play Water Music, let all see

The truth’s invisibility. 

Schtupping Philosophy brings out

Third eyes. This post-renewal age

Can’t fathom seasons. Anger warps

Each blossom, buzzing does each corpse…

Schtupping Philosophy onstage, 

I feel the sunlight’s bearded breath. 

The earth lets go of hardness. This

Gets harder moonlight, as does Bliss

Schtupping Philosophy to death.  

Poem 6:

Ode on My Daughter’s Bat Mitzvah (an Acrostic)

“If faith is the sail on a relationship, one with a broken faith is a hardship. What do you build a new sail with when your faith is broken? Hardiness. Jacob is hardy… Hardiness is not the same as hardness. The ‘i’ in hardiness is a reaching hand; hardiness strives, it reaches through hardness.” – Madeleine Sheff, from her d’var Torah

Do not too aggressively light upon

Adulthood, nor too agreeably go 

Usurp its tumultuous limits. Snow

Greets every shoeless shaliach whose crown,

Humility, isn’t the brownest brown. 

Take Laban, who wears mankind’s to-and-fro

Every season, and his deceptive chatter

Richly to the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

Of intellectual hatred, we’ve Yeats

For removing any gray gratitude

(Tantamount to cemetery gates):

Haunted by it, your life’s just a bladder

Emptied at the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

Comedy’s cruelty makes men brood.

Oh, even tragedy must look away.

Muteness sympathizes with nature’s food;

Made wingless in wine glass novels by day,

All of it runs full speed from decay. 

Normal Saturdays are mad as a hatter

Dimmed by the shadow of Jacob’s ladder. 

May the chuppah embrace each ah! bright ray

Eternal nature absorbs from your frame. 

Nouns have more beauty than verbs; don’t name

This place Terra Terribilis then shatter

Seraphs at the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

A Song to True Love

Beacon in the storm, light that pierces the darkness,

taste of saltpeter on the lips,

icy wind whispering secrets to the waves.

Unbreakable refuge, scent of salty wood and rain.

Deep roots,

scent of damp earth and ancient moss,

rough bark under the fingers,

rough and firm touch.

Indestructible bond, deep and damp silence.

Crystal river,

cold water brushing the skin,

constant murmur, reflection of the leaden sky,

scent of clay and seaweed.

Constant flow, aquatic freshness.

Midday sun,

scorching heat on the skin,

blinding golden light,

buzzing of bees in the air,

aroma of honey and pollen.

Heat that penetrates the soul,

intense glow.

Embrace of wings, soft skin against skin,

deep joint heartbeat,

scent of jasmine and wet earth,

absolute security.

Perfect Union/

Silent song,

vibration in the chest,

deep resonance, serene silence,

peace that floods the being.

Serenade of the soul/

Silk canvas,

soft texture under the fingers,

smell of fresh paint, vibrant colors,

delicate brushstrokes.

Joint creation…

Secret garden,

fragrance of roses and damp earth,

velvety petals, soft touch,

mysterious silence.

Shared intimacy, vegetal freshness.

Eternal fire,

intense heat on the face,

crackling of flames, smell of burnt wood,

hypnotic light, burning warmth.

Flame that never goes out/

Safe refuge,

soft and warm blankets,

smell of home, cozy silence,

feeling of deep peace. Peace and tranquility,

aroma of cinnamon.

Endless journey/

Fresh air in the lungs,

changing landscapes, murmur of the wind,

excitement of adventure, boundless freedom.

Shared adventure, sensation of movement.

Intense brilliance…

Dream come true;

Softness of the sheets, comforting darkness,

a feeling of peace, sweet dreams,

immense joy. Complete fulfillment,

the scent of lavender.

Constant whisper,

a gentle breeze on the skin…

GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.

Snow falling white birch forest
After wandering the world,
I now watch the snow falling
on a birch forest in Poland.

Every soul that leaves its home
will long for the land it once dwelled in,
the lingering scent of wildflowers left behind,
the laughter of a beloved voice.

I only miss the sunshine of Jeju.
There is no gift more precious than sunlight.
The autumn sun in Jeju is dazzlingly beautiful.
You will never know
how deeply I love the sunshine.

Standing beneath the gray sky,
watching the snow fall in a Polish birch forest,
in this divine and beautiful woodland,
I long for the warmth of the sun.

Snowflakes fall endlessly,
piling on the snow-covered birch trees,
as longing quietly settles in my heart.


Distance Between You and Me

Each word, each phrase,
like the wind, it sways.
When we hear but don't retain,
connections start to wane.

With a quiet heart, sincere and wide,
we look, we listen, side by side.
Emotions flow, a hidden stream,
revealing truths, a whispered dream.

Listening is magic, soft yet strong,
it soothes, it heals, it rights the wrong.
It melts the ice, it breaks the chain,
and opens hearts to feel again.

At work, at home, in love, in ties,
trust is built where empathy lies.
To truly hear, to understand,
creates a bond, a helping hand.

Like forests need the sun and rain,
so do hearts through joy and pain.
Nodding gently, eyes that see,
reflecting words so truthfully.

Not just our voices, loud and free,
but others' stories, their decree.
Only then, both strong and wise,
can we unite and harmonize.

Together swaying, firm yet free,
a bamboo grove in unity.


The Day I Turned Away from the Heron

She gazed at glass in the morning light.
What did she see in that silver space?
A lonely ghost in her own embrace.
She longed to be like the crane so bright,
with feathers pure as drifting white.
Yet in the stream where shadows play,
her form was cast in quiet gray.

Who would cherish one unseen?
One who scorns where they have been
can never know a world serene.
The crane looked on with patient eyes,
as still as time, beneath the skies.
The heron stood where waters gleam,
a fading shape within a dream.

I turned away from the heron, left nothing there,
just silence hanging in the air.

Poet Dr. Kang, Byeong-Cheol is a Korean author and poet, born in Jeju City, South Korea, in 1964. He began writing in 1993, publishing his first short story, “Song of Shuba,” at the age of twenty-nine. He released a collection of short stories in 2005 and has since won eight literature awards and published more than twelve books. From 2009 to 2014, he served as a member of The Writers in Prison Committee (WiPC) of PEN International. Additionally, he worked as an editorial writer for JeminIlbo, a newspaper in Jeju City, Korea. He holds a PhD in Political Science and currently serves as the Vice President of The Korean Institute for Peace and Cooperation and vice president of Jeju PEN. Moreover, he holds the position of founding President of the Korean Association of World Literature.

ALLERGIC SKIN DISEASES AND STUDYING THEIR PREVALENCE

Tokhirova Rukhshona Izzatbekovna

Student of the Pediatrics Department, Andijan State Medical Institute

Relevance of the Topic:

According to the World Health Organization, the 21st century is recognized as the century of allergic diseases. These are currently the most common non-communicable diseases, affecting 35–40% of the world’s population. A concerning fact is the doubling of allergic disease cases over the past decade and the emergence of new, more severe forms. In our country, 2–3 years ago, only 50–60 types of allergies were diagnosed. However, thanks to modern technologies, it is now possible to identify more than 200 types of allergic reactions. Adhering to dietary hygiene rules and eliminating allergy-causing factors can significantly reduce the prevalence of allergic diseases.

Objective:

To study the significance of allergic skin diseases in daily life and their social risk factors.

Methods and Materials:

The results are based on a survey of 69 patients with skin diseases. The study utilized questionnaires, sociological, and statistical methods.

Results:

We conducted a sociological survey among 69 patients undergoing treatment at the private dermatology clinic “Mir-Med” in Andijan. Among the patients, 23.2% were diagnosed with psoriasis, 18.8% with vitiligo, 15.94% with acne, 30.43% with allergic skin diseases, and 11.5% with other skin conditions.

According to the survey results, rashes most frequently appear on the face and hands, often forcing patients to temporarily suspend work activities. Most patients diagnosed with psoriasis and vitiligo perceive skin rashes as an aesthetic defect that prevents them from feeling comfortable in society. Hereditary factors identified in the etiology of these diseases hinder young individuals from forming families. Allergic skin diseases are accompanied by itching, rashes, spots, and blisters, leading to increased nervousness.

Currently, allergic diseases affect about one-third of the global population. This fact is supported by our study, which found that 30.43% of patients were diagnosed with allergic skin diseases. The causes of allergic diseases include immune system disorders, improper diet, lack of daily routines, and, in general, neglecting the principles of a healthy lifestyle. Additionally, insufficient public awareness about the non-contagious nature of these diseases exacerbates the issue.

Conclusions:

In the Andijan region, psoriasis and vitiligo are the most commonly diagnosed skin diseases.

Toxirova Ruxshona Izzatbek qizi was born on July 25, 2004, in Oltinkul district, Andijan region. In 2022, she became a student at Andijan State Medical Institute. Today, she has achieved significant success, including publishing her personal book on the American Amazon platform, which is now sold in 26 countries. Additionally, she is the author of nearly 20 articles and has actively participated in numerous international conferences.

Memory Show

Characters:

Willa

Justin

Amelia

Male Chorus

Female Chorus

Note: Chorus roles can be divided between one or two males and one or two females.

Willa: (To audience) It was my first solo art show. I was the low man on the totem poll, so they gave me a Tuesday. The budget was small but at least I got to choose the food myself. I tried to pack as much symbolism into the hors d’oeuvres as possible.

Justin: (To audience) It was my wife who found the invitation to Willa’s art show, delivered to our home. My wife who booked the plane and the hotel.

Chorus/Wife: You haven’t seen this woman since what, high school? She always sends us thoughtful presents on Madelyn’s birthday. You’re going, game over. Wife wins fight before fight happens.

Justin: (Sigh) Yes Hon.

(to audience) Suddenly I found myself in a small downtown New York gallery, wondering exactly how I’d gotten there.

Willa: (To Justin) You want to know how you got here? How both of us did?

Justin: Um….(Implied: No, but you’re about to tell me anyway)

Willa: Justin and I—(points to him) That guy— began our adventure, winding slowly toward friendship, immediately following high school English class.

Justin: Ah, here we go. This memory.

Chorus/Teenage Willa: Hi, Justin.

Chorus/Teenage Justin: Hi…(searching for her name) Willa.

Chorus/Teenage Willa: May I speak to you?

Justin: (To Willa) Why would you ask such a silly question? We were already speaking!

Willa: Shhh. Let us talk! I mean, let teenage us talk!

Chorus/Teenage Justin: …Yes?

Chorus/Teenage Willa: I would very much like to be your friend.

Justin: (To Willa) We were about to end junior year. The timing, much like you, was odd.  

Willa: I know, right? And I knew it then, too.

Chorus/Teenage Willa: I know we don’t have unlimited time.

Willa: See? I’m a genius!

Justin: Yeah yeah, be quiet. Let yourself talk.

Chorus/Teenage Willa: I was thinking…can we please spend the summer getting to know each other? And also, I’m not asking you out.

Justin: Were you reading my mind?

Willa: Sort of. I was reading your face. I’m a visual artist. That which makes me crazy also makes me psychic.

Justin: This is getting confusing, this memory within a memory. I’m no longer sure to whom it belongs. Which one of us is speaking?

Willa: Oh. Right. (To audience) He wrote down his number and gave it to me.

Chorus/Teenage Justin: I’m pretty busy this summer. But we can hang out a few times, sure.

Justin: I thought, maybe she won’t pursue this. Maybe this will just be one of those things that are hinted at, but ultimately come to nothing.

Willa: Yeah right. As if I wouldn’t spend the next decade-plus pursuing you….

Justin: Pursuing me…

Chorus/Teenage Willa: Pursuing….

Chorus/Teenage Justin: Me…

Willa: But your friendship only, nothing more than that. “Nothing more than that,” what a silly phrase, as if friendship alone weren’t worth the world entire.

Justin: And now I’m here. At your art show.

Willa: Yes, and I’m glowing. For so many reasons. (pause) No, not that. Although I suppose I am pregnant in a way….pregnant with the origins of creation.

Justin: Before you go on one of your artsy abstract meta-rants…

Willa: (to audience) Oh man, he knows me so well!

Justin: Let’s center ourselves. At your art show—which my wife made me attend—could you tell how guilty I felt?

Willa: No, I figured you were just uncomfortable for the usual reasons. Unless I’m engaged or married to you, I tend to have that effect of men. (To Chorus/Husband) I love you, Baby! Thanks for putting up with me!

Chorus/Husband: Don’t mention it.

Justin: It wasn’t you. I mean it was, but…I should have invited you to my wedding. I should have sent you a picture of Madelyn before she was a year old.

Willa: I’m not angry. I love you. I’m so glad you’re here. Listen to me, I, I, I, it’s all about me, god, artists are insufferable. Oooh, wine!

Justin: (To audience) And that’s when things begin to get weird.

Willa: “Begin to”…I’m sorry, are we still sharing the same memory?

Justin: Go away.

Willa: What?

Justin: You aren’t here for this. You and your husband—

Willa: Fiancé, at this point.

Justin: You and Theodor are in the corner drinking wine and having some dorky conversation at this point.

Willa: …Yup, that sounds like my relationship. Excuse me. (Goes to Husband/Chorus)

(Amelia enters)

Amelia:  Justin?

Justin: Yes, how did you know? Are all the people at this art show obsessed me with me? (to audience) I don’t think I said that last part aloud. I really, really hope I didn’t.

Amelia: I recognized you from Willa’s portrait of you. It’s iconic, in its own right. One of her best, I would say.

Justin: Oh. Right. (To audience) Well good, then. That’s only mildly unsettling. (To Amelia) And your name is?

Amelia: Amelia Valeri.

Justin: I’ve heard of you.

(To audience)

Willa’s best friend from college. I’ve heard way too much about Amelia. And seeing her now, for the first time, there’s nothing wrong with this woman. But it was disconcerting to see, in person, someone Willa described as a saint, an angel, a goddess, her soul mate. I never imagined Amelia having actual human hair. It’s…shiny.  

(To Amelia)

Don’t you and Willa sometimes chastely kiss? How could anyone kiss you and keep it chaste? You’re carnality embodied.  And yet you’re…Metaphysically ethereal? Your sweat must be nectar. But harder, human. Flesh against mine is alchemy, branch against branch, we’ll make fire.

(To Willa)

Great, now I’m starting to sound like you.

Willa: Sorry.

Justin: (To audience)

No. I’m only ethereally attracted to Amelia. That’s all. She’s a painting I’m looking at too hard and my focus gets distorted. It has nothing to do with sex, I mean gender, I mean the sexuality of our genders. God, what is this, my first ever epileptic seizure?

Willa: They don’t make you so articulate.

Justin: Go back to talking to your husband.

Willa: You’re the boss. It’s only my art showing, but whatever.

Justin: Let me kiss you. Just once. Ten feet away from Willa, from her paintings, the hors d’oeuvres, and most importantly, miles away from my wife and daughter, in this safe space that can never actually exist.

Amelia: Sure, whatever, I’m like a gin and tonic past finding this weird. (They kiss, passionately)

Justin: Um….I have to go now. Willa, can you take over for awhile?

Willa: Dude, no problem, I got this.

Justin steps back into the Chorus area. Willa replaces him.

Willa: So?

Amelia: So what?

Willa: Justin! I can’t believe he came!

Amelia: Oh. Him.

Willa: Yeah. It’s seriously, I just, it’s, you know, it’s a dream come true, you two meeting.

Amelia: What a boring dream. Aim higher. Really, Willa, you have no ambition.

Willa: ….You know this is my art show, right? In New York? (pause) City?

Amelia: Certainly I do. I helped you pick the wine. Speaking of which….

(she walks back to the chorus)

Willa: (calling after her, desperately) I love you, Amelia!

(To audience) I did. And I do. There is no beginning of the end. The end has many beginnings. In hindsight, that might have been one of them. Either way, even now, it stings.

Justin: (Joining her)

I know, Willa. God. I know. (They embrace)

Willa:  (still in his arms) You did not embrace me then. Not until my wedding.

Justin: I couldn’t. I was too self-conscious about the erection I’m not entirely sure I had. Bad enough as a metaphor, but god forbid you’d think it was for you.

Willa: I wouldn’t have. I knew better than that. (pause) Why didn’t you tell me?

Justin: Tell you?

Willa: That you were in love with Amelia? After knowing her a minute? It took me a full five minutes to fall so deeply in love with her. I’m impressed with how quickly you caught on.

Justin: (horrified and impressed) My god, how did you…

Willa: Since we were sixteen or seventeen, whenever we’re in the same room, I’m aware of your motion. Attuned to your heartbeat, almost.

Justin: Oh. That’s not at all disturbing.

Willa: I know, right? Sorry. I feel your emotions but I’m still oblivious to sarcasm.

Pause

Justin: I didn’t tell you, because I guess I knew how happy you’d be. And I wasn’t…ready for intimacy on that level. Not with you.

Willa: I get it, Justin. I really do. (To Justin and audience) There is an odd, distinct sorrow that accompanies the best day of your life.

My two greatest non-sexual muses, one from high school, one from college, under the same roof in a room filled with art! My art! That’ll scratch the ego’s g spot.

Chorus/Husband: (Jokingly, deadpan) You know I’m standing right here.

Willa: Quiet Theodor, being my husband doesn’t give you the right to critique my inner monologue.

Chorus/Husband: Oh my sweet baby. Read the fine print.

Willa: OK moving on. Anyway, there’s a paradox to the best day of your life. It casts a shadow, it haunts you. My wedding, in contrast to my first showing, was painted in pastels. Lovely, of course, but the climax had passed.

(Lights change slightly. Chorus and Amelia fade into background.)

Justin: I never kissed Amelia. I called my wife instead. I listened to my daughter breathe, and in doing so remembered to breathe myself.

Willa: When you came to my wedding, did you think Amelia would be there?

Justin: I did not for a moment doubt it.

Willa: Our Amelia was alive when I took my vows. She had six months left before…well, before things got bad.

Justin: Do you think that we’re glamorizing her?

Willa: Oh, certainly. That’s what living people do.

Justin: Why do I love a woman I met once, briefly? In what world does that make sense?

Willa: I’m an artist, don’t ask me for logic.

Justin: I didn’t know her.

Willa: Did you cheat on your wife?

Justin: No, and now I never will. I mean…I never would have…Fuck me, life is complicated!

Willa: Aw, baby, I’ve been saying that for years.

Justin: Did you just call me baby?

Willa: Yes, but I meant it non-sexually. I call everybody baby, or sugarcrotch, don’t overthink it. Kidding.

Justin: (pause) Yeah so life is complicated. I love my wife, but the memory of kissing my friend’s friend haunts and warms me as if it were real.

Willa: But we are friends. And you came to my wedding. And my showing.

Justin: That part, yes. That part is real.

Willa: And at the day of my showing, my happiest day….

Justin: I remember where all your art was on the wall…my visual memory’s not usually so precise…

Willa: I clasped your hand between mine and said….

Justin: Willa. It took me almost a decade to be comfortable saying your name.

Willa: …Justin.

Justin: I love my wife, my daughter, your dead friend, and you, in that order…

Willa: Justin! (Implied: Be quiet!)

Justin: What?

Willa: (Holding his hand) Thank you for coming.

END

Alaina Hammond is a poet, playwright, fiction writer, and visual artist. Her poems, plays, short stories, philosophical essays, paintings, drawings and photographs have been published both online and in print. Publications include Spinozablue, Third Wednesday Magazine, [Alternate Route], Paddler Press, Verse-Virtual, Macrame Literary Journal, Sublunary Review, Quail Bell Magazine, Superpresent, Clockwise Cat, Ranger Magazine, Fowl Feathered Review, The Ravens Perch, 10 By 10 Flash, Waffle Fried, House of Arcanum, Synchronized Chaos, Well Read Magazine, Hidden Peak Press, Third Street Review, and Litbop.  @alainaheidelberger on Instagram. Playwright’s note: Memory show was first produced at Manhattan Repertory Theatre, January 2016. It starred Alaina Hammond as Willa, Michael Bordwell as Justin, London Griffith as Amelia/Female Chorus, and Dave Stishan as Male Chorus.

Playwright’s note: Memory show was first produced at Manhattan Repertory Theatre, January 2016. It starred Alaina Hammond as Willa, Michael Bordwell as Justin, London Griffith as Amelia/Female Chorus, and Dave Stishan as Male Chorus.