Will write for yarn.
We traveled by car. My grandparents left upstate New York and drove the eleven hours to my home in Virginia, where I waited, impatient and seven years old, for them to pick me up and continue the drive to Florida, to Disney World.
I spent the entire journey reading, so immersed in words already that I [...]
I hide behind beautiful words. I hide truths that are more difficult to wrangle with than even I know, and though I like to think I’m facing things, I know there will be more, more and more things, stacked like cordwood, like bodies, just waiting for me to face them, that is, to put faces [...]
I used to own this body, like a pair of shoes, like a yo-yo, swung comfortable (falsely) in this flesh, walked with purpose with flair with con-fi-dence. In my bones I knew myself desirable, though my eyes refused to see it, my mouth to voice it. Thigh-high boots, short skirts, leather, zippers, spikes, flowery dresses [...]
These are the things no one tells you:
The birthing is easy. It brings you to your knees, of course, if you do it right, and I don’t mean without meds because by god – it’s still a rending. It’s a splitting open, a metamorphosis, leaving the shell of your old self behind. You crawl out [...]
It’s strange to walk into a place and see someone whose words you know, whom you follow in a strictly world 2.0 way.
It makes you hesitant.
Then you consider all the things you put out there, all the soul-emptying smudge of language on the pristine pixels, the things you would never, ever say to someone in [...]
It could be in
the name…orderly…
tidy beds no
decorative pillows
drapes blinds ties
that could bind.
Every day the trays
come
at the same time.
Droning television mutes
the hum of voices real
and imagined.
There is no one
to care for but myself
so I do -
make bedbrush teethwash hair
every day, even.
What else is there
to do?
Outside
the mind must hold
tenuously
grip the edge hold up the
buttress
of Important Things.
Inside
we’re
Free.
I still have the postcard, buried somewhere in a keepsake box beneath wedding photos, the abstract finger paintings of my children, photographs, ephemera.
On it, a friend’s scribbled writing dashed off hurriedly; I was grateful to receive anything at all from him on this journey across country with his family.
He told me of New York, the [...]
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