• Let me tell you about this weird thing that happened last weekend. I made a sign. Well, “made” is a generous word for what actually happened. I had an idea, some supplies, and a limited amount of time. I used black paint to repurpose a canvas I’d painted on. One layer of black paint. I…

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  • Trixie

    The Woman on the Stage On burlesque, body image, and wondering what other women see when they look at you. I didn’t feel sexy. Let’s get that out of the way first. I was on my period. I was bloated. I was aching. I was hurting. Sexy was pretty much the last word I would…

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  • I Hope You Marry Rich, Then

    I hate cooking. I don’t know how to sew. I’m also a tad on the messy side. Guilty. My mom tried desperately to domesticate me, but I resisted tooth and nail. With the force of a thousand suns. Oh yes. I remember in high school (I was homeschooled), my mom gave me a sewing project…

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  • The Cardboard Box

    Stacks of books inside a cardboard box. The same box you traded back and forth with Uncle Bill, because he, too, always had his nose in a book. Hundreds of books in the cardboard box. I never believed you’d finish them all. One by one, they disappeared, drunk down like water. How many lives did…

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  • “Can I come over looking ugly?” That’s what I asked my best friend, Dejai. Not ugly, ugly. Not the kind that needs an apology or a warning label. I wasn’t a biohazard, by any means. It’s the ugly that happens when you’re struggling to take care of yourself. Where your hair is unwashed and doing…

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  • Death Over Dinner

    I want you to know If anything should happen, as sad as it might be, my final wishes and hopes, any relevant medical history. ‘Tis a hard talk to have A harder task to see through When wishes are not known. Do not lose your cool. Please don’t start to cry. We are all just…

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  • Creases

    I feelthe way you watchmy mouth moveas you lean closer,until my lipsalmost brushyour ear.

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  • Six Feet of Grief

    It All Begins Here

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  • Something Unnamed

    He arrives like a rumor that I almost stopped believing. Salty sweat drips from his brow. Mischief in the fine lines when he smiles. I had already folded the night. A small square, manageable, mine. The soft ache of almost, The gut punch of never will be. I open the door like a confession, My…

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  • The Sunrise We Shared

    My Dad was a Vietnam veteran. He was drafted. Served two tours. Rear door gunner in the 101st Airborne. There were things you learned quickly to love a man who has seen war. A man who had the Grim Reaper on his right arm. A man whose cold stare would give you chills. I always…

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