To Be A Woman
I used to go to therapy. The best advice my therapist ever gave me was this, Do not expect to change or manipulate anyone’s feelings by expressing what you need. Express yourself strictly to change the way you feel about yourself. I write this for me. Emerging feminists formed themselves in circles. They held mirrors between their legs to examine the flower of their vulva. The first time I saw Georgia O’Keefe’s painting Music Pink and Blue, I realized I was a stranger to myself. Knowing starts with touching, and so I did, in bathtubs and solitary bedrooms. Understanding the dark spaces

Animals and Angels
Kierkegaard said, “Man’s anxiety is a function of his ambiguity, and his complete powerlessness to overcome that ambiguity.” **** When we got married, I told David I did not want to have children. Just the thought of another person demanding space inside my body made me resentful. He nodded his head as if he was in agreement. My husband, who is as sturdy as a spreadsheet of checks and balances, romanticizes the risks he took in marrying me. I knew you would come around to wanting babies. He told me this once in hindsight, as he watched me rock our firstborn soft to sleep. But, what if I hadn’t? I was outraged at his stubborn patriarchy. In that mo

Berlin
Who are you, really? This is such a stupid question. You are not an easy person to get to know. A woman I work with tells me this. She pantomimes a wall. She points me out like I am Berlin. The conversation feels ridiculous. I hold fast to my division. **** I woke up at 3 am. I could not sleep. There was a message from J’s biological mom on my Facebook page. I’m so happy that J has you. She writes. Who better to raise a boy with the struggles J faces than you and Dave? I stand in the kitchen exposed in a plain white tee shirt and two mismatched socks. I ache. I both love and hate my son’s biological mother. She gave me J, and yet, I

The Murder of Birds
Last night I dreamed of birds. There were giant pelicans standing like reflected shadows of the water. They were distant and beautiful. Across the shoreline, I watched a group of teenage boys throwing rocks like insults. When the hurled stones finally made contact, there was an avalanche of flight and feathers. In books you can buy for five dollars from make-believe Gypsies, I learn to analyze my dreams. The books say it is not about the objects or their symbols. Emotions are the root of what is important in our dreaming. In dreams, I watch the murder of birds. I stand calm and silent. The day they buried my grandfather it rained. The sky was soft and muted, a hazy gray whi

The First Line
Sometimes you have to tell a story. Sometimes you have to keep telling it until the words blur on the page and you become your own deconstructed narrative. “I” is a beautiful fiction. There once was a girl with a spine as straight as a staircase. She was not stunning. She was just drifting indiscriminate, taking up head space in math class, and wishing she had the practicality of numbers. She had a heart for romance, but her body was awkward and stiff. She tried to teach her fingers the hidden language called pleasure. Her fingers betrayed her with the threat of sin that rests like a serpent between a good girl’s Catholic legs. She grew up hungry. I was never the most