September 9, 2013
Eva Vazquez for The Chronicle Review
It used to be that I taught at a prison for reasons that were noble. Now I think it's because my students can't send me e-mails.
If they write me anything, it's the poetry, memoir, and fiction that the course requires. And they do it on lined paper using pens the length of coffee stirrers, made from the same kind of plastic tubing that attaches people to medical devices. The ink is apparently solid until my students rub the tips of the pens on the soles of
The Chronicle Review