In that life, you were a moth – nothing pretty like those lime green luna moths with their tapered wingtips and twisted tails and mouths that somewhere along the way ceased to exist. No – you were a brown moth, you said. An American dagger moth, wings dripping with rows of thin black [
choke down your pretext throw a line a wiretap dots and dashes make a ribbon confessions are best said gift-wrapped avoid his eyes what could be worse? label me a lunatic and lock me in the house i cannot feel this in public know that if i could i would […]
Between the blue lines of pale wide ruled notebooks, I used to draw arrows (→) at the bottom of my pages when fifth-grade teachers still wanted hand-written essays. The arrows (→) signaled there was more to read on the back. Turn the page! it prompted. Letting them know I didn’t tr
I take pictures more than I used to. I wish I was better at it, but I don’t care to improve. No picture I take could ever fully explain why I take them. Some photographers, the famous ones you always hear about, are said to be able to capture a personality, love, even […]
(Open on panning shots of trees, squirrel’s-eye view, sliding from the ground up. Fade into golden leaves being blown from their branches, drifting in and out of focus. Peaceful orchestral music mixed with ambient bird song plays.) Wizened British Narrator: As the last leaves of autumn fall t
Busia’s house always felt foreign to me. I was used to shag carpets, floral wallpapers, and watching Hogan’s Heroes on our white Zenith television back at home. Busia’s, on the other hand, was more like a relic from the postwar housing boom. The wallpapers were khaki-colored, spotted r
