trauma: hippostarfish

Do you know the story of hippo? How he has to open his mouth wide every few minutes to show Papa God that he hasn’t eaten any of the most favored fishies? Continue reading trauma: hippostarfish

rarasaurOctober 16, 2019November 12, 201915 Comments

grief, in my head, memoir, stream of consciousness

also.

I let the things I need to say sit in my throat because I think I can cough them out. I let the words I meant to give sit on my lips because I think I can kiss them away. I let the things I think about build up, until the pile is something I can only sift through haphazardly. My skin does the sifting, … Continue reading also.

rarasaurNovember 3, 2018November 3, 201830 Comments

grief, memoir

like candy

John Candy died on a Friday. I was nine and a half years old, seated on the bed of a Red Lion hotel. Room 34. (That last part I only remember because it was March 4th and the room number matched the day.) The bedding was the sort I didn’t like. The fall-toned coverlet was stitched with a thread that seemed almost plastic, and my … Continue reading like candy

rarasaurJanuary 25, 2018March 4, 201913 Comments

from the archives, memoir