Image Credit: Stefan Keller from Pixabay Papa had the curious custom of planting a seed in the garden of our home after every person who had grown dear to him. The…
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“Someone has to take the iPad,” my mom said. “I’ll never use it, you know.” I am certain my eighty-year-old mom will never dabble with technology. She still calls the…
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Creative Nonfiction / EssayMy Grandfather Survived the 1918 Pandemic, Only To Be Bitten by the African Tse-Tse Fly
“Don’t move.” From the passenger seat behind me, Bryan grabbed my headrest and pulled himself up. “That is one big bug,” he said with excess enthusiasm. “Where?” I whispered. “On top…
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Image Credit: Jesse Shofner Last winter, your father asked if “queer” was still a slur. He asked this carefully, as he always does when it comes to your sexuality.…
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Behind the mask, another mask. -Thou Ghosts have no memory, but I do. -Janice Lee On a drizzly Friday evening I decide to ride my bike to the…
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For me, literacy was discovered in the Windy City’s cruel, winter howl—the intertwining of English, Spanish, and Polish a language all its own. Growing up in the Chicago Polish neighborhood…
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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: Aaron Brame 1994. I drove around Memphis in my little green car with the big dent on the side. The speakers shook as Kathleen Hanna screamed, Suck my…
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The year we move for the second time, my father’s study and my sleeping quarters share a room. My father wants to be close to his church and my mother…
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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: The Stroop Report, Warsaw Ghetto Uprising My mother’s first memory was a dark one. She was three, living in the gray, perilous misery of the Kovno ghetto…
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I noticed the correlation between secrets and smells from the confines of my dad’s house. Later, I discovered that both coexist outside as well. On one Saturday morning, my brother…
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There was nothing to do but climb. The turquoise sky was immeasurable above the yuyuga tree, slim branches swaying and bending with heavy fruit. At ten years old, waking life…
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In what would be a life-long pattern of behavior for me, I was absent for the birth of my oldest child. In anger towards her mother, I ignored my daughter…
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