Me, my sisters, my brother, the older cousins, the younger cousins, we squeezed in wherever, even in the crevice behind the backseat, meant to be the trunk.
All tagged family
Me, my sisters, my brother, the older cousins, the younger cousins, we squeezed in wherever, even in the crevice behind the backseat, meant to be the trunk.
The stray black kitten, known to neighborhood kids as Silky, climbs up the screen door to peer into our living room.
We three siblings, on a long-awaited pilgrimage, walk up and down aisles and aisles of gravestones, some modern and readable, some old and fallen.
The phone’s ring pierced my mental fog as I lay in the hospital room.
“We’ve been coming here for six weeks, and it works for J and I, but does it work for our son? Will they love him and his differences?”
I’m two, maybe three, wearing a baggy diaper and standing in shin-deep puddle water. Leah’s here too, all pigtails and chubby legs and chubby cheeks.
I have always been a stickler for meticulous preparation and planning, perhaps dating back to my Boy Scout days or maybe just a product of my OCD.
It is an unsaved number but I answer, leaning back as the preliminary recording begins.
The four of us sat together on the bed he and I had shared, where we woke to classical music, where he brought me coffee, where their bright faces greeted us in the morning …
I end the Viber call after my psychiatrist diagnoses me with anxiety disorder, before hopping inside the shower, where I let the water drain everything that’s left of me. CW: Sexual Abuse
A line ran down the middle of the hallway in the DePaul Behavioral Health Center in New Orleans. You didn’t cross it.
Tripping over her tongue tumor, my mom croaks out a few words. “You fold socks the right way, Emily,” she manages.