Meg Robson Mahoney

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Mother, May I?

Together we reasoned her slips away, but that couldn’t save the names of plants she’d known or the twists of plot in a book. This is not a story about dementia, but I can’t leave the dementia out. It played a role in how I caught my own reflection in the mirror of family.

Nominated for Best of the Net 2021; awarded Best Non-Fiction, Write on the Sound 2020


In sight of Croagh Patrick

First thing I checked each morning, out the upstairs window facing west: Can we see Croagh Patrick? Is its elegant triangle on the horizon? Do shrubs point their shadows across the fields in its direction? Or is it obscured by the weather?


A Man of Morocco

This story is from before the pandemic. Printed for distribution in May of 2020, it wound up boxed and locked in a closet when most of New York shut down and the journal lost its editor and staff. Here it is, harking back to former times of travel…

About me


I’m a writer, currently working on a memoir about discovering that the silence and acquiescence I learned growing up female lay in wait to destroy my well-being and marriage. And my fight to change.

I was a dancer, taught dance in public schools, and advocated for arts in education.

Recent forays into territories unknown have me cruising the waters of western Washington with my husband and occasionally seafaring cat.

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