Figs, Deferred
North Lawndale is a food desert.
North Lawndale is a food desert.
Last Sunday, I stopped to get coffee before church when a woman hesitantly approached and asked if I was a Christian. I told her I was.
As I’ve been moving my life into this new room, I’ve been dismantling the one in the southwest suburbs of Chicago where I slept in from the age of ten until I left for college.
An hour before Hamilton, we marched circles around the theater, trying to hold off seeing the Hamilton marquee (not Lafayette) till the exact right moment.
Dear M,
I hope you are enjoying life in Oregon. I am trying very hard not to miss you. Sometimes, it works.
Two weeks ago, in the lead-up to a concert, I got to read poetry off a video screen that was larger than the end zone of a football field.
Nowhere else in this big wide world of ours can you find a life-size Michael Jackson and Princess Diana made entirely out of marzipan.
The US eventually emerged from The Great Depression, but my grandmother did not.
Where had he been when? What happened on the way? Why was he there? How did he die? The answers were dispersed on these 28 square feet. We needed them to get out.
When is the last time
You knew what you wanted?