The brown townhouse is smaller than I remember. It sits back further from the road than the other townhouses attached to it, flinching into the shadows. Emerald shrubs under the…
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The little girl who tromps down to the creek, after the season’s first rain, spring rain that comes after the crocuses, after the thaw, she wears black rubber boots trimmed…
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Living alone, a severe stroke victim, I had a lot of time on my hands. I was no longer able to exercise or engage in vigorous physical activity, since my…
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This is part of a recurring column about modern romance, dating, and more. I never intended to be a prostitute. Or a hooker. Or a sex worker. That certainly wasn’t what…
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This is the first in a recurring column about modern romance, dating, and more. I started talking to my first couple on a summer afternoon. I found them through the sex-positive…
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It was the 80’s. Seattle. Four books on feminism stack themselves perilously next to my twin bed, in a teeny apartment, on a narrow rickety dark wood table I stole…
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WOVEN is an Entropy series and dedicated safe space for essays by persons who engage with #MeToo, sexual assault and harassment, and #DomesticViolence, as well as their intersections with mental…
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The intimacy of the tiny cockpit of the single engine Piper Comanche was romantic and intimidating. The empty sky outside the window was only an inch from my shoulder. At…
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Worry Without cloud cover to hold it at bay, the cold pours over the eaves of the house and mounds up against the foundation like sand in an hourglass.…
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I wake up at 6:45 with little feet pressed into my shoulder blades, my body contorted into the shape of an L as I try to avoid my black lab…
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We were drinking at the time—well, Nick and me at least. My younger brother, Josh, wouldn’t drink, won’t drink. We were all home from college, some in-between time during the…
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She’ll iron her work shirts on your bathroom floor. She’ll drench your carpets in water she spills carelessly from sturdy plastic cups, and impressive torrents of tears the average hetero…
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Excerpted from a memoir. It was a Saturday morning. My son was in Venezuela on a short vacation with my husband, and I wanted to hear my younger son’s voice…
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On the dock that stuck its tongue into the sound. Against a backdrop of fading light. We stood knowing we were silhouettes. I had long hair then that I wore…
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