The Essentials

Last night in fitful sleep, I dreamed apocalyptic. Back in my childhood home but as an adult, with my siblings and parents, we waited for disaster, knowing, in the Dream Way of Knowing, that it was coming.

We were to be airlifted out of our home via helicopter, but before that, we needed to gather food. I found peaches and carrots and put them in a bag. All of us frantic, terrified. When there was no more food to toss in bags, I rifled through my books, looking for a thick anthology of children’s literature; where we were going, we would have time to pass.

And where was Kegen? Dream Meg needed him and felt confused that he wasn’t there. Shortly, he appeared, and I ran to him and kissed him, a luxury interrupted by chaos and necessary explanations about what was happening. The end.

“But dreams aren’t real!” my best friend protests; she doesn’t care to discuss them. “What is real?” I counter only when I’m feeling existential.

What is real? This morning, Continue reading


I Forgive Myself for Forgetting You, Tri-Tip Sandwich

You were perfect. A yeast roll, medium-rare beef sliced thin, mozzarella draped across you, biting red onions ringed and tucked into the whole mess. Arugula – arugula! – the peppery foil to mozzarella’s soft hug. First, I ate the hot French fries that accompanied you. You know I love French fries; they would not stay hot long. Between bites I chatted with my best friend, visiting from afar, she enjoying her chicken salad on croissant.

French fries handsomely demolished, I ate some of you, but – too soon – I was full. And so I asked the server for a box. I nestled you gently in Styrofoam, your environmentally irresponsible and eventual casket. We paid for our lunch, Continue reading

Eve’s Curse: Gladwell-Level Expertise

Menstrual cramps sent her to her bed this afternoon. She lay reading, curled in the fetal position, a heating pad wrapped around her lower abdomen.

Lying there, she began to calculate The Time She’s Spent Menstruating. She got her first period at 12. She’s 32 now. Twenty years of periods. Twelve periods a year. Some women have inconsistent periods; she is like clockwork. Every 28 to 30 days, her uterus sheds its lining and begins again, like a bloody phoenix. (You’re welcome.) Continue reading


How fragile are you?
How flimsy?
How easily shaken.
The skin darker than yours —
     Chained to a ship
     Chained to a cotton farm
     Chained to debt peonage
     Chained to predatory agreements
     Chained to a cell
— Who dares proclaim its worth?
And sure of yourself, in false magnanimity, revealing only the fragility and smallness of your soul, you correct what needs no correction:
“ALL lives matter,” you say.

My Body is Just Fine

Hello, friends. Want to do something radical today? Revolutionary? Decide to like your body, and follow that decision with actions and words that reflect body-liking.

Many of you have already committed this revolutionary act. Terrific. Spread the gospel, please, and encourage healthy self-image and positive self-talk. And maybe don’t read the rest of this post, since it’s not for you. Stop hogging it. Continue reading