When I was five years old, my family moved to Saigon, Vietnam. Depending on your politics, or your view of history, we moved there for noble purposes. My father worked at the U.S. Embassy, and we were his dependents. It was safe, was the intended message to the world. American diplomats and their families were welcome, the war was over, nothing to see here.Read More
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
When I think about writing about my mom I am afraid I will leave the best stuff out. I loved her, hated her, loved her and now mourn her and even channel her. Sometimes she does come out of my mouth.Read More
You are my favorite hello. You are the song that blasts through my speakers. You are the cooling wind on a sunny day. You are the moonlight that illuminates my bedroom window.Read More
So I logged onto FB this morning as I so often do, and one of my "friends" decided to say, "LGBT+ is a political fascism weapon prove me wrong". I had to stare at that for a few minutes in dumbfounded silence before my initial reaction was both disgust and overwhelming pity for his stupidity.
I am at war with my body. That realization hit me just a few days ago. But it is a different war than the one we have fought for almost 40 years. I remember how our body used to look in the mirror, especially at the height of our decades-long battle. Ribs protruded, easily countable. Our collarbones could have been used as handles, they stuck out so far. Laying in bed our pelvic bones seemed almost to come through our skin, barely a layer of protection between bone and air.Read More
Over the past weekend I drove Upstate
To attend a wedding of a friend I've
Known for years. This friend who I'll
Call Amina, had been widowed for over
15 years. She kept herself involved with
Church affairs, visiting her grandchildren
And taking occasional vacations. When
Ever her and I would have a conversation
About being alone after being married for
A long time, we often spoke about the
Loneliness, and dealing with a big void in
Our lives. I too am a widow of four years.
He has been out as long as he was in and I still can't believe he's real.
How can two minutes, two "cells", two bodies make something that grows from a pin drop to monthly fruit and veggie comparisons in your belly to a slippery sliding football at birth to this moving, grooving, squealing, smiling can't be a real boy.
Raindrops cling to the underside of the balcony railing, and I’m struck: everything is fragile. Everything is in wait for that precise, perfect moment. All it takes is…
I miss the sea.
I crave biscuits and gravy so much in my third trimester that I wonder if this baby girl will roll from me, a buttery, layered biscuit of her own accord with thigh rolls, chubby cheeks, and a Southern drawl cry-squawk.Read More