We’re drinkin’, my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road …(Frank Sinatra)*
My mother used to tell the story that, when I was about 3, she was late picking me up from my aunt. Auntie B…
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.— Langston Hughes*
In the beginning, it was dark — too dark to make out her face or her features. Only the jeweled sparks from…
For my first 5 months living on the road, starting in September 2019, it was fun being a digital nomad. Who wouldn’t love a glorious autumn in the Scottish Highlands? Sailing the Caribbean in December? Writing from a Costa Rican beach in January?
I wasn’t watching the news, I was…
I’ve been to a dozen professional counselors in my life. One tried to sell me Herbalife. One urged me to consider that I might really be lesbian, despite my many decades of pro-penis adventures. Another literally fell asleep while I was talking.
Consequently — despite my very real anxiety and…
Well, my friends …
If I’ve learned anything during the lost year of 2020, it’s how much I’ve misunderstood the idea of home. For me at least, it’s not so much a place, as it is a knowing … of where you belong.
Even at the age of 7, I was accustomed to people coming in and out of our house at all hours of the day and night. My parents ran the NAACP and organized civil rights marches from our living room, and published a militant newspaper from our basement. On any…
I was reading the second book in the Outlander saga when my adult kids brought me a dog from the shelter — a bouncy, wannabe Shih-Tzu mix. He was smart and fast, especially when stealing food, like the Paris street urchin in the book — Fergus.
And like the character…
Fergus was adopted from the shelter in August, 2016; he was 8 months old. Despite his size (15 pounds), temperament (Road Runner on Adderall), and original name (Mr. Snuffles), he believes himself to be a Shih-Tzu. We’ve been unable to cure him of this delusion.
Me: (waving the leash) Come…
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
How many nights
did I stand over my babies’ cribs
watching them breathe?
Tiny chests rising and falling
in miraculous, endless rhythm,
bitty hearts and lungs
I made you, I’d whisper
Formed your perfect bellies and limbs
of my own blood and bone
fed you with my own…
“So it’s the very idea that black women don’t even particularly get to dream themselves free for real, for real, because we’re so busy fighting … everything. Who would we be if we weren’t just trying to survive?” — Rachel Cargle