385 Days (Or a Story About 40 Mirrors)

385 Days (Or a Story About 40 Mirrors)

The work of being a writer means being called upon wherever words—in their neatness and finiteness—are needed to fill infinite spaces and describe the indescribable. This includes funerals. And so, I have penned eulogies to be read by friends, daughters, in-laws, and cousins as they mourned fathers and sons (always fathers and sons) at somber funerals. Sometimes I got to hear my words spoken as I sat amidst anguished pews in churches. More often than not, I did not.

Read More

Giving Sexy Back

Giving Sexy Back

When I had reclaimed enough of my body to realize that it was mine to do with as I pleased—consensually, painfully, delicately, brazenly—I returned. Coming back to find my Sasha Fierce on those nights I wanted to disinter the long legs gifted to me as the tallest in my family. Repatriating on those hot summer days when I liked to watch the curve of my bosom rise on the beauty mark atop my heart, and their untrained eyes hover above my heart.

Read More

I've been wanting to write you a letter ...

I've been wanting to write you a letter ...

I read Eleanor Roosevelt's love letters this morning. Well, at least snippets of them. Wife to President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Eleanor was a reformist and champion for women's equality in her role as first lady—and the longest serving American first lady. Known for her public persona, her personal life has been a topic of much discussion since the discovery of a batch of her letters nearly four decades ago and the resulting publication of the book, Empty Without You.

Read More