“Here where I stand at the turning of the years,” Les Misérables wails from bedside Echo Dot. New Years morning. 2020. I stare at the brightening ceiling for hours. Mind…
-
-
The Sunday of Valentine’s wake I wake up a-flutter. My ride or die wife by my side. She snores as AHS: Hotel screams from the TV at the foot of…
-
“It’ll be a Blue Christmas without you,” sings Elvis on the TicTok I make of my synthetic Christmas tree. The iPhone camera swirls around glittering orbs. Settles on a commemorative…
-
I jolt awake sharply at dawn. Afraid. Turmoil in my stomach and brainstem from too much day-old cold coffee. A marijuana vape I sucked down yesterday in a bid for…
-
“Don’t call it a comeback,” raps LL Cool J. This summer the “Dining with a Cursed Bloodline,” column ended like a Disney Classic Movie. Marriage. Happily Ever After. Roll credits.…
-
Lana del Rey’s new single “Looking for America,” brings me to tears on first listen. Like her, the America I once naively believed in was only a myth. Patriotism shattered…
-
I had one great love now gone. Who I thought would forever haunt me. This intensity of my love for Jasper waxes almost to eclipse her. Allows me compartmentalize. Block…
-
The moon waxes in Libra to full Strawberry moon. High summer. I remember vividly the 2016 Strawberry moon. Los Angeles. My boyfriend and I gobbled succulent Barbacoa quesadillas. I stayed…
-
“Fast away the New Year passes.” I hear sifting through profiles. Swiping my phone with sweaty hands. Interviewing every queer in Reno not frightened of me. It’s on like Donkey…
-
I am furious. I am ferocious. My rage could devour the world. It is not appropriate to express. Other than to my therapist. For one hour. Once a week. Perhaps…
-
1976: This cursed bloodline begat me. Cries at cold air. The beginnings of pain. 1979: Health freak mother teaches me that soda pop and the red cherries on top of…
-
Rewind to 2016. Breaking up from my Los Angeles boyfriend. An inch of white at scalp divides long dyed black tresses. I take a vow of celibacy until the gray…
-
Dolly Parton warbles sentimental carols. Triggers Yuletide parental invitation. Grandma is in her grave. Holiday hosting? The torch must be passed. So it is. Christmas Eve, we dine en famille…
-
A velvet patterned Thanksgiving dress drops over my bulletproof vest. Sports bra over black mesh restricts buckle bulges. The vest’s bulky belt further puffs flaring skirt. Meant to hold guns,…
Newer Posts