My cats didn’t eat my husband’s dead body. I asked. The very nice lady said she would have noted any bite marks or removals from the body during the autopsy. They have to do an autopsy when someone dies and isn’t found for two days. They have to do an autopsy when a 35-year-old man dies and there isn’t any obvious reason why. You have … Continue reading ungroomed grief
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
I met Alex when I was 17 years old. I don’t know if you can remember so long ago, but I can. Back then, the world was so small that everything was within reach, and time was so overgrown that you could take as much as you needed. Back then, we were afraid to die young, as if life were more slippery than youth. We … Continue reading ❤melt : calling on alex
One of my favorite stories, in both book and video form, is The Princess Bride. In the classic tale of high adventure, for those who haven’t read or seen it, Buttercup gets the shattering news that her one true love, Westley, has died. She mourns, but eventually puts on her practical face and sits down to breakfast and the shadows of a normal life again. … Continue reading i’m on the brute squad.
Written November 27th, 2014 from the California Institute for Women, from room 136– the cell without a mirror or light, or doorknob, where I spent my Thanksgiving. I had a window, though, and the room to myself– and it was a lovely place to write. ________________________________________________ The fog rolled in, misting the grass with smoky sanctity. We walked a single-file line through it, one after … Continue reading unlocked: goodbye, chowchilla.
The simple truth is, I love him. Sometimes I type his number onto my cellphone just to stare at it. Just to remind myself to breathe. In prison, I would sign up for a phone slot and sit in the booth for all fifteen minutes– just to stare at his number on my hand. I don’t press the button to connect because I don’t need … Continue reading ❤melt: the simple truth
rarasaur 