A 40-something female friend told me recently she had no #metoo stories. None. Had never experienced unwanted, inappropriate advances from a man. Frankly, this shocked me a bit, followed by a small wave of other emotions: disbelief, judgement, envy, and, of course, my loyal, invisible best friend: Shame. “Look at her,” Shame whispered. “She obviously … More In the Gray with #MeToo
If I threw a rock down the gullet of this deep, lonely blog, would it hit at the bottom? Would it splash into some river run-off of old melancholy or all has that all dried up? Lodge itself into the thick damp remnants of fear. Or would that flung rock just hit the dry, cracked … More Echo echo echo echo….
Here’s what I know, today. Leaving a job I hated–after trying so very hard to love it–was something I should have done sooner. For five years, I worked my heart out in the middle of a little island, doing work that felt important at the time. For over two of those years, I had been … More Don’t think. Just do.
Did you see the same sky I did tonight, after dinner? The last of rich sauce and gristle left off from the meat. Swallowing one more jagged crust of bread, the last pull of wine, then lurching to the driveway so I could stare at white swaths of flimsy atmosphere and wonder where such a thing came from. It wasn’t expected, … More Color Blind
It’s six and September so the sky is gilded at the edges in small leaves and slivers on the water when the boat moves off the dock. I have a book of poems in my palm and a man runs a polisher over the coffee-colored floor in gentle whirs along the window seats. Tonight the … More Cords
Dear Mothers of Sons, First of all, thank you for having sex at least that one time so that we, the future partners/spouses of your son, can participate in many wonderful experiences with the human you created. That includes also having sex with your son. But I’ll talk about that a bit more later–don’t worry, … More An Open Letter to Mothers With Sons Who Will Likely Date/Marry
“If you’re looking for someone to lead you, it won’t be me,” she said, “For now, anyway.” And it gave him a start, so much so that he pulled back too quickly on the small knife he was using to slice bites from a pear. A thin line of blood appeared on the tip of … More The Pear