Nonfiction

Wild Blue Parakeet

Running in Central Park again. That morning six miles. The day before, five. Running from my husband’s EKGs, running from…

7 years ago

House of Mirrors

Turn the lights off. Gaze into a mirror and repeat “Bloody Mary” three times. In its origin, the game was…

7 years ago

On Visibility

If you had asked me, when I first came out as transgender, if I wanted to be seen, I would…

7 years ago

Other Lives

I am standing in line at the French Broad Chocolate Lounge in Asheville, North Carolina, a place as exotic as…

7 years ago

Boy in the Van

The French boy had hair the color of wet sand. Not beach sand, but desert sand. The six months I…

8 years ago

The Case for Steve Gutierrez

I’m middle-aged now and batting away a number of ghosts. In short, I’m haunted by the same platoon of terrors…

8 years ago

Octogenarian Wheelchair Basketball

On the Siskin Hospital for Physical Rehabilitation second-floor wheelchair basketball team, I was tied for most valuable player. Or the…

9 years ago

Pressing Pants

I am an accomplished pants presser. In a day, I press sixty pants. I press pleated pants so that the…

9 years ago

Pine Notes

There is a language within language that gets passed between poet and poem. Certain words stir us up, in a…

9 years ago

Smile

Twenty-eight teeth form neat pickets along my upper and lower gums. The teeth have been artificially straightened and whitened. My…

9 years ago

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