Gendered Self-Destruction
Your waste is
wine coolers, merlot,
minty, thin cigarettes—
set sexily in a delicate holder.
Creating My Father’s Legacy: Martin Elkort’s Photography
In the spring of 2014, I stepped up to a podium in the Brown Auditorium Theater of The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. The place was full and the audience attentive, expectant. They had just seen my documentary, “Martin Elkort: An American Mirror” about my father, and I was unsure Read more
Don’t Leave a Voicemail Unless You’re My Mother
Even with this clear instruction recorded on my phone’s greeting, invariably, friends and family will still leave me little messages that sound something like this–not ranked in order of annoyance. “Hi, it’s Karen. I know I’m not your mother, but please call me.” “Oh, hi. Ha ha. Funny. Call me. Read more
The Day I Started Dating an Italian Named Giovanni
Days passed, and romance blossomed. Of course, it wasn’t mine. Lee started dating Pietro, the round, balding member of the trio while Kathy, who already had a boyfriend waiting for her back home—making it even less fucking fair—was being squired around town by the blue-eyed Adonis. Daphne had found her Read more
Potter’s Field
(for my sisters) Standing here in the glistening grass a new morning is breaking over this potter’s field* Thoughts and words flutter like ghostly birds flying out of ancient trees And I say to myself It is unmarked and well it should be- because over space and time naked screaming Read more
I Call My Daughters Pretty ALL the Time
I have two little girls, and I tell them they’re pretty all the time. I’m their daddy, and I think they really want me to see them as pretty. So I acknowledge that I do in fact think they’re pretty. I think they should grow to want to receive regular Read more
To Anonymous A
I sat on the sofa, my back propped against paisley pillows, and my legs crossed at the ankles. My camel-colored clogs, the ones with the wooden heels that knock on the floorboards when I walk, hung from my feet over the square cushion’s corner. You, Anonymous A, sat across the Read more
Phoenix Rising: Thriving With Depression
She always asks how I am doing. I rattle off a few tidbits, mainly professional milestones or interesting people who I crossed paths with over the past week, simultaneously picking at fluff that does not exist on her couch. She probes again “How are you doing?” I always reply “I told you Read more
