the black-eyed woman

It's September of 2019, and I'm still revising a draft I started almost a year ago. A lot happens in the space of one year. So many things have changed. I feel like I don't contain the same cells. Like someone rewrote my code. Maybe they did. I'm not the same person I was a... Continue Reading →

seven months

The date took me by surprise today. I was scribbling down my schedule--I travel so much these days, it’s hard to keep the days straight--when I realized I’d forgotten what the day was. Grief is funny like that. It’s taken seven months, but here I am, finally at the point where it’s no longer piercing... Continue Reading →

how I am

"How are you?" This is a dangerous question, today. On the way to work, my knuckles, already OCD-torn, cracked and bleeding, are white with strain. I pinch my nose. I do all the things I know to keep my mascara on my eyelashes, not all over my face. It isn't easy, because today marks exactly... Continue Reading →

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