Memoir
Mom wasn’t interested in being the type of mother—or wife—who put her own life on the back burner
Prepared for every situation, even pandemic, mothers should be the ones on TV when our nation is under attack by terrorists or viruses.
Every sixteen minutes the couple in the film gets married. Every sixteen minutes they kiss like they wish they could take it back.
And the Word became flesh: coarse hair, crooked smile, the taste of salt on his clavicle. I am the disciple whom he loved.
Growing up, I resisted identifying as disabled. Now, I’m seeking to better understand the label and the community behind it.
The figure of the witch looms conspicuously large in Catalan—in the gardens, on the roof, in the heart of the mountain.
Like so many German Jews, my Nana’s family was late to leave the country when Hitler came to power. They thought antisemitism was a relic of the past.
On seasons of grief and change, in Montreal and everywhere else.
I thought I could escape my jail kid past in an idyllic southern city. But trouble found me, and not everyone I knew got out alive.
I somehow thought my mother would die and still be alive, somewhere in that distant sound that resembles the sea in which she taught me to swim. But she is not there.
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