* * * A Thing with Feathers Your little soft body the color of midday sun unfurled like a blossom in a storm, broke out from a shell once a…
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A crow has been calling in the front yard since the sun rose. It’s the beginning of November and my left breast feels heavy. I lift it and the pressure…
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In my kids’ yoga classroom on the Lower East Side, two hundred elementary school girls still in their uniforms take the shape of a cow. Knees under hips, hands under…
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Image Credit: Samantha Steiner I awoke on my baptism day to an impending panic attack. It crept in slowly, settled into the pit of my stomach and sent shockwaves…
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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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Image Credit: CB Wilson CB When did I first become aware I have a body? In the podcast “Living in this Queer Body,” host Asher Pandjiris begins each interview…
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* * * I wonder if birds’ throats get sore Let me try that again. I wonder if birds ever get tired of calling into the nothing; of being high…
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Image Credit: Eliza Moore 1 I imagine Walt Whitman’s body Walt Whitman, an. American, one of the roughs, a kosmos, Disorderly fleshy and sensual, eating and drinking…
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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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Image Credit: Charles Landseer We were told a lot about a medical student’s first time in the anatomy lab. We were told that our donors, which is what we…
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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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“I don’t care—just make it even,” I said to my mom. She turned the clippers on. As the first tufts fell onto the towel draped over my shoulders, I did…
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Parents Who Work, a System That Doesn’t Giancarlo, the smog guy, always struck me as remarkably good-natured for someone who worked in a fume-filled shoebox all day. When I’d…
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The last time I belonged there, I straddled the steam hissing off the asphalt with my right foot on the curb at Charlotte Douglas International and my left on the rubber mat…
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