MEANINGMAKER

storytelling

  • all the days we did not live

    I decided to walk to work this morning. Unusual for me in the winter. On my way, I happened to see an unhoused woman curled up on the cold sidewalk on the other side of the street, surrounded by the… Continue reading

  • the trouble with erasure

    They took down the Pride flagat Stonewall,the birthplace of belonging,like lowering a clothcould lower a people. As if a history that rosefrom riot and refusalcould be dimmed,could be drowned,could be undone,by stripping its colours from the sky. She whispered as… Continue reading

  • lift what you can

    My mother taught me to shovel snowthe way I imaginesome 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 the hush of the world,the night itself… Continue reading

  • 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— a path to my mother.… Continue reading

  • the dinner party

    I had dinner with all 55 of my selves last night. It was a long table and we sat together, arranged without intention, like someone had shaken a box of all my pieces and let them fall. A scatter of… Continue reading

  • 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

  • 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

  • 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

  • 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

  • we are so lightly here

    Today, my phone’s photo app offered me a montage it called Looking Back. I usually ignore those compilations, but this morning I opened it as the downtown blurred past outside the train’s window, on my way to work. There, among… Continue reading