Memoir

Epcot World Showcase

Every sixteen minutes the couple in the film gets married. Every sixteen minutes they kiss like they wish they could take it back.

Dayspring

And the Word became flesh: coarse hair, crooked smile, the taste of salt on his clavicle. I am the disciple whom he loved.

Toward My Own Definition of Disability

Growing up, I resisted identifying as disabled. Now, I’m seeking to better understand the label and the community behind it.

Four Bloody Fingers

The figure of the witch looms conspicuously large in Catalan—in the gardens, on the roof, in the heart of the mountain.

My Grandmother’s Survival

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. 

The Bells That Still Can Ring

On seasons of grief and change, in Montreal and everywhere else.

The Lucky Ones

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.

Night Wandering

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.

Secrets Are a Captive Country

My grandfather had never told me about his trip to the Soviet Union in the sixties, but I don’t know why I was surprised. He never told me anything, not even my grandmother’s name.

At a Rest Stop Somewhere in Texas

You go to Buc-ee’s for the same reason you break up with someone: to pursue possibility, that narcotic promise of more.