City Stories: Life on the Road
Stories of travel compel us, she says, because “more reliably than anything else on earth, the road will force you to live in the present.”
Self Deprecation Man
“I suck at math.” “I’m bad at writing.” “Nobody likes me.” “People don’t get my jokes.” Stop it.
The Theater of Protest
Their shouts of “white power!” were countered by our shouts of “Nazi pigs have got to go!” At the end of the day, nothing really happene
I Read Fun Home in New Orleans
I examine the photos of us together on my phone. “I look like a cartoon character and you look like a Dominatrix. I’d say these fit our personalities pretty well!”
Toxic Masculinity
In urban, educated America, masculinity is fashionable only with a veneer of irony.
Butt Dust
…while remembering that we are dust is meant to be striking and a bit uncomfortable, I’m confident that no one wants to remember being “butt dust.”
The Food Struggle
No one remembers to send okra a Christmas card, and they usually misspell “okra” anyways. Ocra? Akra? Okrah? Occasionally, someone visits her when they go south for spring break.
If That’s What Writers Are, I’m Not One
But so often the story would rise up and out of me, and I couldn’t find it again. And I wouldn’t really try.
Deaconing
I’m stepping into church council. Humility knows no bounds. What can I reciprocate? I grovel, lying prostrate, prone.
Moving Day
A fan. A spatula. Thirty soft-cover books. A pile of dresses. Yarn. A bottle of balsamic vinegar.
