Latest Posts
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the trouble with erasure
They took down the Pride flag at Stonewall, the birthplace of belonging, as if lowering a cloth could lower a people. As if a history that rose from riot and refusal could be dimmed, could be drowned, could be undone,… Continue reading
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a mirror in minneapolis
Two liveswhose names readlike promisesthe world failed to keep:Good. Pretti. What a bitter sermontheir deaths preach:That goodness is no armour,that beauty is not spared,that loving your peoplewill cost your life.A dark gospelspelled out in their bloodon the streets of Minneapolis.… Continue reading
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lift what you can
My mother taught me to shovel snow the way I imagine some mothers teach prayer – patient, shoulder to shoulder. She’d come home from a long day, and say: Come on, let’s go. Out into the dark we went, into… Continue reading
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new year’s eve 1975
She slipped the deep blue coat from the hanger. The fur collar brushed her cheek, a brief vanishing softness. I watched from my doorway, a child awake when I shouldn’t have been, drawn by the thin slice of light —… Continue reading
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the dinner party
I had dinner with all 55 of myself last night. It was a long table and we sat together, arranged without intention, as if someone had shaken a box of all my pieces and let them fall. A scatter of… Continue reading
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a small good thing
Last night, just before I fell asleep with my Airpods still in, I listened to a short TED Talk about what it means to keep on creating in a world that feels like it’s on fire. Every one of us… Continue reading
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at the threshold
A lone mourning dove took up residence on our front doorstep this morning. She’s calm as a guest who knows she’s expected, though she wasn’t. A round little thing, soft-bellied and unbothered, as if she’s just content to be content… Continue reading
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a gift in the cold
Can we just talk about how the rain froze on the windshield this morning for a minute? Like a tiny murmuration of starlings – that breathtaking, swirling ballet you sometimes see those delicate birds perform by the hundreds in the… Continue reading
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on writing and angels
I’m channeling my 85-year-old dad here with the if I had a nickel for every time line, but truly – if I did have a nickel for every good thing that has come into my life because of my writing,… Continue reading
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