I Can’t Believe I Still Have to Write About This

I recently finished Lindy West’s memoir, Shrill, and I don’t want this to turn into a book review, but I do want to tell you to go buy it. Right now. It was witty and funny and perfectly depicted the rampant sexism still ripping across this country. When West took on male comedians defending rape…

Slippery Rock Creek

You push that great red plastic hull into the water and watch it dip in slightly before floating on top. The kayak looks so artificial in that swampy muddy water as if anything so large and poignantly red could ever appear from the depths of nature’s own hand. You wedge your body into the little hole…

Eight Stages of Grieving

  1. Confusion: I woke up to my partner in a way I haven’t ever woken up to him before. We briefly touched hands. We were mostly silent. I held back tears as we read social media posts from our friends, some of which made me laugh. I was thankful not a single post was…

Insomnia

Your body turns over, sloshes from one side of the bed to the other. Eyes that should fall heavy sit light and alert. You notice everything—the way the flannel sheet catches the dry skin of your big toes and tugs, pulling you. You hear the heater light and click on. Your shirt bunches beneath your…

The Oakland Manor | Pittsburgh

   “I will see the city poured rolling down the mountain valleys like slag, and see the city lights sprinkled and curved around the hills’ curves, rows of bonfires winding. At sunset a red light like housefires shines from the narrow hillside windows; the houses’ bricks burn like glowing coals.” –Annie Dillard; An American Childhood…

Autumn Resonance

It started with a scent. A scent of rustled leaves beginning again as oblation, an offering to the succession of life and death. It blew through the open window and disturbed the steady breath of frosty mornings. Is this the disturbance wild geese feel? A row of cells divide and suddenly they are off, pummeling…