Nonfiction

I watched my mother die. I just didn’t know it at the time. It was Saturday morning. I had spent my second night in a row by her side in the ICU. There was a rhythm to my visits. I had to teach on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I would stay all day Wednesday, and […]

Maybe somebody really should come and murder me, I thought at the sound of a creaky floorboard, then I wouldn’t have to go to work.

All the same, when it began to heal, I was stricken with an inexplicable sadness. I had come to identify with this scar. It felt like my history in flesh, fading away. 

I’ll make you love me, and then I win.

Drinking, unlike most things, is easy to predict. Here is what I know: Nine beers will put me on my ass.

The space between my left and right ear rings when nothing’s ringing. In dead silence, white noise. Static is my internal soundtrack.

Once upon a time, you had so much pigment in your skin, darkness pooling in your elbows, your knuckles, and especially your knees.

Without choking, I can now swallow and smile at the same time.