A baby blue bowl floating in a sea
Peony petals rippling the pond
A bird’s nest of freshly kindled eggs.
And this is where sentiment blooms, invigorated in the vein of the pulp. This is where a pollen grain can hitherto germinate, in the buds of white trees. White shoots, not white roots, my father tells me.
Last week I took my granddaughter
Alex to IHOP for breakfast. The waitress
Seated us in a large booth towards the
Back by the window.
We chose never to eat lunch in the school cafeteria. In four years I never set foot in that building. I claimed a spot on the front steps of the high school with the other kids playing dress-up with different personalities.Read More
Oh my God, could I possibly be happier than when there is a late afternoon rainfall. A heavy rain, but not a destructive one. As it washes over the streets and sidewalks and anything or anyone in its path, it washes away any cares and worries I might have at that moment.Read More
The man who was once a boy that raped the once girl that was me has a daughter.
I know this because Facebook told me in the language of a single frame.
As it happened, his face appeared on my timeline as one of Facebook’s helpful suggestions of people I might know, people I might want to friend. After a moment of hesitation, I clicked on his picture. Then, I read his name to myself, scanning his face, his eyes, that smile, all the same. I heard his voice in my ear threaten: If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you--as if it were yesterday and not twenty years ago. The non-linearity of our lives and our memories, and how they move and crash upon one another is beautiful and terrifying and fantastic and strange.
1. The day we packed all of my things into boxes I felt something leave my body. Like the longer I occupied that space, the longer it occupied me. A friend came by to help me pile the odds and ends I reluctantly scattered around the place we called home, in to the brand new SUV, I decisively named Miracle. God placed me at the wrong place at the right time, so that when the day came for the exorcism, we would be ready.Read More
“Come play with me.”
“Not right now, sweet thing, I have too much to do.”
“Okay, for just a half hour then. I promise to leave you alone for a while if you spend a half hour with me now.”
When my friend, David, was a wee lad, a quest of his mother’s inquired of him, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Without hesitation, he replied, “a woman.”
I wept for 10 seconds today. I normally don't cry. I can't. Who has the time? The thick, unbreakable layers of my sadness lie at the opposite end of the earth. I'm convinced I can't reach them unless I spend twelve days in an Ayahuasca retreat held deep in the jungles of Peru. Only an old, wise Peruvian shaman could serve me a potion to awaken the dormant part of my brain that harbors the demons within me.Read More
Old age is a shock. To discover over and over again that I am old rattles me to my core every freaking day. As well as I can remember, the first time I realized I was old was when I looked in the mirror and saw an old man’s face completely unfamiliar to me. My femininity had flown out the window sometime during the night. I miss it.