roots and wings

I left prison today, last year. I washed before leaving, taking the longest and hottest shower I had taken in what felt like years.  The girls gave me space, so I could get as clean and ready as possible.  I left all my bath supplies behind, the bodywash and shampoo, the deodorants.  Somebody would use it. I left everything behind. All I had was two … Continue reading roots and wings

all the little lights

I sparked my first match when I was six years old, in the harvest season, for the Festival of Lights. It was a matchbook stick and my big brother helped me tear it off. The cardboard end was unnaturally angled, and bent even further when I gently slid it against the rough striker on the back of the folded book. My fingers already smelled and … Continue reading all the little lights

dear gillian

Written July 14th, 2015 from the California Institute for Women – 100 hours before I was free, a letter never sent, to a friend I’ve not yet met.   I didn’t ask her permission, so I’m not linking to her (yet), but she is a blogger, and she is loved. ________________________ Dear Gillian– Good morning! It’s 10am here in Corona, California, USA, and I’ve been up … Continue reading dear gillian

❤melt : they open doors

“Who?” Curiosity slipped from my teeth before I realized it didn’t matter.  I listened to my sister explain, hearing her words in the way only little sisters can. Her husband’s friend and his fiancé were excited to welcome me into their new house.  They were good peeps. (Translation: She met them once.  They seemed alright.  She didn’t tell them the full story.) I’d have a … Continue reading ❤melt : they open doors

2015, real talk.

In the copshop, in RC– Fire Camp Training at the California Institute for Women. Mr. Darr leaned in on his chair, his body lazily relaxed, his eyes tense and alert.   He had called me into the office, staring in silence before speaking.  “We don’t listen to rumors, usually, but this one has some meat on its bones.  Did you get punched on the yard last … Continue reading 2015, real talk.

go ahead, clap your hands.

I finally held Dave’s death certificate on Monday night.  It shouldn’t have been a shock, but it was. I flinched. I cried. It reminded me of the game my little brother loved: Are you afraid of a monster this big?  He’d ask, arms outstretched, as wide as he could reach. No, I’d claim. Are you afraid of a monster thiiiiis big?  He’d ask, hands and … Continue reading go ahead, clap your hands.