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Non-Fiction

Sunflowers

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about sunflowers—the kind that kept Van Gogh tethered to his body and that convinced Hannah Gadsby that human connection can shield us…

The Babies

The room is small, jail-like, with windows high in one wall. The air is humid. Breathing requires deep heavy intakes of energy. The bits of daylight filtering through…

Our Institutions

Over the last twelve months of life at the Alvarezes, from fall of ‘65 to fall ‘66, the seasons gained momentum. The autumn equinox passed.

The Monster Barber

My father left his barbershop to work in construction years before I was born, yet he never stopped cutting hair. If you knew Gennaro well enough to visit his Italian home in the inner city of Cleveland…

The Memory Box

In our living room, a box sits atop a record player, with a black and white photo placed upon the box. All three items act as a tabletop for collected dust…

Doll

I was there to induce labor at 22 weeks’ gestation. I was there to end my pregnancy. To have a late-term abortion. Abortion. Jesus, the word stings, doesn’t it?

Some Days Are Yellow

Some days are yellow, some are blue. I know by heart my two-year-old’s favorite Dr. Seuss book and the rhymes repeat in my mind…

Rose-T(a)inted

You loved the rose-scented soap in my bathroom. You would rub it all over your body in the shower, and I would flinch, and think ‘is that even hygienic’?

hands holding

Who I Am

I never knew how my mom would answer the question that I’d pose to her each morning when I’d call at 6:45. It was the same question every day…