“Are you a virgin?” The two boys leer at me. Their silly grins hide something that, to me, is inscrutable. I don’t know if I’m a virgin or not. I’m not sure what I should say. I feel there’s some trick here. If I say yes, I might be caught...
about this piece Firehole CanyonYellowstone National Park, Wyoming, USA2003Acrylic on canvas20" x 16" See More in Art...
I was talking in mystic chordmemory, in chime and pulling throughthe light of all thingsAcross, across the battered bookkeepingdollar sense of where we left tostream beyond, looking up to starkShimmering blackness, whole pointsof galactic time swallowed inblinking pace before us.When you take the raw end of things,clasping and human against the bloodyedge of time, it... Continue Reading →
* Digital photo by author. San Antonio, Texas, USA To the man with the charcoal grillheld up by three flammable, wooden legs,you’re wonderful and so are your burgers.To the slow. ass. drivers.who have no place to be and, certainly, no turn signals,you’re wonderful for slowing so many rolls.To the stray dogs,that skitter into traffic in mangy packs,you’re... Continue Reading →
after Jan Gossaert’s Portrait of an Old Couple (ca. 1525-1530)So here we are,a few years shortof wizened, fitto sit dressed upfor a double portraitof a marriagethat’s lasted. My husbandhas his preoccupationsand I’ve acquired my own —our oldest son still learningto inherit the concern,the surviving daughtersnursing their childrenas I nursed mineuntil my well-used wombturned useless, the stillborn,the... Continue Reading →
OCD (Oh-see-dee) n. 1. An imagination that can override trusting one’s self. 2. Checking the door knob for the eighth time because you know that if youdon’t, it’s going to bother you; what if someone walks in and steals everything?;what if I didn’t lock it and my family is killed, and it would be my fault?... Continue Reading →
after i finally write about beingmexican i am told i can’t writea whole book about being mexicani tell my boyfriend he is whiteprivilege and he smiles becausei have it too idon’t know what i have when noone is looking but i think of mymom and she is the mexican onei know el chico del apartamento... Continue Reading →
* Jean-Michel Othoniel's Noeud Rouge, Paragon, Singapore. Photo by author. Briefly on Orchard picking up Paul olive & pomidoro, two small croissantswith the dahl from Wadi fixing two vegetarian suppers. Up/down theescalators at Takashimaya, omitting Kinokuniya’s coloured piles, pipedmusic and antiseptic. That could be left for another day. Crossingfor Paragon, where virtue and honour immediately infused passing across thethreshold. (Wondrous dizzying all-overcoming gumption. You smile throughyour teeth.) Muji third floor, essential... Continue Reading →
Frida Kahlo y Calderón grows up, makes love and diesin La Casa Azul, her blue family home in Coyoacán,a village on Mexico City’s outskirts. True, she traveledand lived with others in other houses, rooms. In child- hood, polio damaged herback. And at eighteen, in a busaccident, a metal handrail impaled her pelvis and spine.**_Thirty surgeries,... Continue Reading →
