Look Up
For a moment, I got lost in space and time. Sunday morning church was above me, and I had to look for the bookshelves and study carrels to remember that a library was around me.
The Church at Rocamadour
She is
Smoke-tinted,
Wood and silver,
Vessel of the divine
And of acceptance
You, Me, and a Nepalese Woman Living in India
A weird thing: when women donate their eggs, we say that their eggs are harvested. Is there a farming term more farming than harvest? No. No there is not.
Waiting
The professor is droning on and on, and I am waiting with adrenaline, caffeine, and the brutal lyrics of Peter Dolving coursing through my veins.
“Is it a Video?”
I have been so in love that all the light around me seemed white-hot. I have spent days where I only remember the smell of sunlight and skin. I have said goodbye at train stations in Europe. I have been told to not look back.
Mayonnaise: A Review
Four tablespoons, give or take, of pure, undiluted mayonnaise.
After Ezra Jack Keats and The Snowy Day
The call for diversity in children’s literature is based on the idea of windows and mirrors.
An Apostate’s Epistle
Grace and peace to you from me, just me. I don’t feel comfortable dragging Jesus into my well-wishing just yet.
I Earnestly Want To Talk About Sports With You But I Don’t Know How
I was explaining this to a friend once when he informed me that cheering—or jeering—at a crowd was all about group community. “We rise and fall together, we yell and cry together.”
A Love Letter to Chimes
Local journalism can disappear without so much as a cry these days, and typically with only halfhearted protestation by the community.
