Ironing

Why don’t you write about men? he asked. What do you mean? I asked. You say you write about women, but I wonder why you don’t write about men? he asked. You don’t think I write about men? I asked. Your writing is all about women, right? he asked. No, my writing is all about…

My Bad

I remember the feel of my grandfather’s dresser under my hands as I felt the beginning. Black cardigan sweater. Blue shirt, elastic waist black Kmart pants. Two days later they would be bagged up and handed to me much like forensic evidence of what had gone down. What had been killed. Blood soaked underwear, puke…

Baked Betty

Company picnic coming in 2 weeks and she signed up to bring decorations and her traditional Baked Apple Betty. Last year she was too sick to go. Her co-workers still made her feel guilty about missing it. Not because they missed her, they just wanted the Baked Apple Betty. How easily traditions become repressive. She…

Filling

What is this called? When motherhood makes its presence known. Text. FaceTime. Phone call. Then and only then I realize that I am feeling this. And I wonder, what is this called? Dear God give me a word to name it! A definition, much like a diagnosis, might help me understand my condition and more…