Every Sunday morning I sat on an ugly floral couch in the living room of my great-grandparents’ house. Seated in the armchair next to me was my great-grandfather – once a strong man, he was now weakened by age, forced to rely on a cane to help him walk, but his mind was still as bright and witty as it had always been. It was his mind that made me. Read More
The sun was slowly climbing the early morning sky as I roared down the A29 on the back of a motorcycle. The morning was hot and we had been on the road for about three hours.
The roads were in a state of disrepair after decades of civil war. Between the monsoons and mortars, many parts of the highway were seemingly missing. Twisted metal from blown out vehicles littered the side of the road, remnants. We did our best to navigate, avoiding craters left from bombs that had landed in the region. Read More
I had never been drunk before the first weekend of beginning college. I got hammered off cheap tequila and watched this kid face-plant into my friend’s lap. He was talking crazy, about fireflies and ghosts in the graveyard up the mountain, about a quarter of a mile from the school. Read More
The one who never loses her appetite has lost her appetite.
I only feel nauseous when I think about him, but I think about him all the time. It’s been a month. I’m still wearing his t-shirt, the one I was wearing when he said it and I left in a hurry.
It’s pretty dirty by now. Read More
The thing about the sun is that it’s always right there. Even when it’s not it’s still hotter by double digits of degrees from where you are from. It’s dark then, at night and such. But you don’t stop sweating here. Read More
Our lungs are ravenous. They seek to devour and heave and drench themselves in the sweet aromas of atmosphere. Their tongues wrap around the smog of the streets, the perfume of a lover, the dew along the pines. Most importantly, they communicate with nature. Read More
We’d pack the car after my dad returned from work – a family of weekend warriors headed north. The three hour drive was punctuated by several notable landmarks: the state prison, the outlet mall, the hamburger place, the life-size lawn chair, fireworks, suicidal deer and – finally – the cabin. Read More
I stared blankly.
“Hallo! Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
When her question only intensified the blankness of the staring, she started again.
“You speak German?” she chirped hopefully.
Though it’d be hard to believe at this point, I answered—“Ja! So ein bisschen.” Yes. A little. Read More
There’s a place in the world that my heart took as home long before I ever considered calling it that. In a window seat, on the right kind of day, a certain few mountains reach up and out of clouds to beckon you nearer an oasis of earth and hip. Read More
Summer is unforgiving. The heat is a relentless foe. Bright and beaming white-hot death rays of sunlight slice through dense and sticky air. I prefer this type of weather. At least there is a nice breeze playing off the river in the distance keeping the humidity at a bearable level. My thighs are sticking to the bus stop bench, the thin summer dress soaked and sticky from sweat on my ribs and breasts. I think about how my tattoo ink is altering chemically under the laser power of the UV rays. The heat is making me languid and sleepy, but my stir-crazy yearning to see you shakes me from my summer coma. I am alert once more, waiting impatiently. Read More