Inheritance of fear
Posted on May 1, 2019 21 Comments
I watch my four-year-old son spring from rock to boulder — a little mountain goat — giggling with pleasure.
“Don’t fall!” I call, my motherliness rising like bile in my throat.
He doesn’t hear, and keeps climbing — surefooted, confident.
I hope he never hears my anxiety.
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Love is a string of cheese
Posted on April 3, 2019 6 Comments
In response to Nate’s critique of his own imagery in Break Up
Read MoreRipples
Posted on March 28, 2019
I’m checking in on you.
The words from my friend, so simple and so full of all the concern and love and tenderness between us, loosed emotions barely held at bay.
Read MoreSilky Sidney
Posted on March 7, 2019 2 Comments
She pinched off a piece of the tiny banana between the tips of her fingers and thumb. Sun-ripened and sugary-sweet, it was harvested earlier that morning from one of the many banana plants in her sprawling, verdant, over-planted garden. She mashed it meticulously, breaking up large chunks so there would be no choking hazard. Then she grabbed the ‘baby’, pried open his mouth, and shoved banana inside, scraping her fingers along his teeth to get every last scrap. She tilted his chin up and massaged his throat–there would be no spitting out of pre-triturated banana, no rejection of her love.
Read MorePayback
Posted on March 7, 2019 6 Comments
‘How much to cross?’ The Devil rubbed his bald head. He missed his golden locks.
Read MoreThe queen’s entourage
Posted on February 21, 2019
‘Rani!’ The call goes up from a young woman behind the counter.
One by one, other staff members take up the refrain till it reverberates through the cavernous interior of the pet shop, an echo inside a cave, the opening strains of The Circle of Life.
Read MoreGendering the Queen
Posted on January 3, 2019 18 Comments
“Can I take a photo of him?” the woman asks.
Ghosts of Christmases Past
Posted on December 20, 2018 16 Comments
Wafer thin slices of potato dive from the mandolin, cascading into the hot oil with a raucous sizzle. My father brushes past my left shoulder. I’ve learned not to look, not to ricochet my head around searching for signs of him. He’s not there.
The Eulogy
Posted on November 15, 2018 12 Comments
CAUTION: This story contains references to domestic violence and descriptions of childhood emotional abuse.
I stood at the podium looking out at the sea of faces, unfamiliar and familiar, the funeral director’s words still ringing in my ears. It’s okay to be raw and honest. There’s no right way to grieve. They’re just looking for the comfort of a shared experience from you.
