I wake up. The first thing I see through sandy eyes is the light coming in between the blackout curtains. My heart has been on the stair master, but I’m not moving. I open my phone hoping to see what? I don’t know. I need to get up. I bury my mind in videos […]
Read More
I am lying on the floor of my basement in the winter of 1989. It is dark but for the remains of a smoldering log in the fireplace. Cool air seeps through the foundation and between the spaces of the delicate afghan that covers me. My parents aren’t home. It’s only me and Tom, sleeping […]
Read More
I taught Sasha Obama when she was in 6th grade both in her private school and privately. (I’m a voice teacher.) I met the whole family, even Grandma, during the performance where Sasha got to show off her singing skills in a very small, family-only gathering. Still, there were snipers on the roof and bomb sniffing […]
Read More
I am standing in the grocery store on an ordinary Tuesday in October, list in one hand, phone in the other. Like most people, I do not enjoy grocery shopping, especially since my son is usually with me jumping up and down, begging for every single shrink wrapped toy dangling within his reach. But, today, […]
Read More
It’s mid-July and the thermostat in my teaching trailer reads 85 degrees. Everything I am wearing—skirt, summer camp t-shirt, faded red espadrilles hiding unpainted toenails—is sticking to me and I haven’t even started teaching yet. I need to make a playlist. One that says, “I’m the cool new music teacher.” I lean over to open iTunes […]
Read More
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Alone time to read a f***ing book. On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Two gin and tonics and alone time to read a f***ing book. On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: […]
Read Morei am brittle the bones of this body will someday bow gently to silt i am brittle the blood of this body will someday loiter, resigned i am brittle the skin of this body will someday parch slowly without protest i am brittle i am i am brittle i am i am brittle, but i am not […]
Read More
March 23, 1995 New York City 2:25 p.m. At first I tried to push the thick, wooden door of the doctor’s office the way you push any door to exit a building, but it wouldn’t budge, so I turned and gave it a shove with my back and shoulder. It was then that I locked […]
Read More
Sometimes . . . I hate being a mother. And, I wonder if I am really cut out for it. What you just read—that confession—has been sitting in my drafts folder since March 2014. And now that I’ve said it, the urge to backspace and instead tell a fluffy little story about how much I […]
Read More
The war was over. No more yelling or angry hands. Mommy said he was gone for good this time. She bought me a box of macaroni to celebrate; called me an arteest. This is all my fault. Please find her, officer. I’m running out of glue.
Read More
Pryvate Parts 