Sarah Sentilles one of a handful of writers I am always eager to work with. She is a writer, teacher, critical theorist, scholar of religion, and author.
April 18, 2021
Risa would rake her fingers through a dog’s fur and instantly decompress. She’d stroke a cat and shudder as it purred. It was the second month that proved a disaster.
April 16, 2021
I was expected to be a meek, obedient wife. When I would try to voice an opinion, my husband would shut me down and get the children to mock me, until, finally, I broke.
April 14, 2021
by Wendy Dodek During this pandemic my thoughts turn to Japan, a country where masks are part of daily…
April 12, 2021
Beyond the “N-word,” I knew what the caller meant by calling my father “boy.” My six-foot-five-inch father was no boy. He was big and he could be pretty scary.
April 11, 2021
A car crash, an OD, a cancer diagnosis, and before you know it your heart is filled with dead people elbowing for space. My heart is getting crowded.
April 9, 2021
Gina doesn’t flinch when she tells us of the affair that reawakened her sexually while sounding the death knell for two marriages, the regrets she has as a parent, as a daughter.
April 8, 2021
Coffee beans should be oily, fragrant, decadent. And the morning should be wide open and roomy to enjoy all of those sips.
April 5, 2021
I like to think I didn’t let him cry for long. That I recovered my sense of proportion, abandoning whatever had seemed important to insist upon a few minutes ago.
April 4, 2021
When he was a freshman in high school he read online that eating an apple every morning had caffeinated qualities. That was probably bullshit but he’d gotten into a huge habit of eating apples every morning ever since.
April 2, 2021
The world goes violently sideways, blurring and jerking as the horse bucks and convulses. I fly off, hit my head and elbow and land on my back. I become acutely aware that I’m not wearing a helmet.
March 31, 2021
Only after four days of labor and absolute exhaustion did I finally consent to the surgery that was likely inevitable from the beginning.
March 29, 2021
After the face-down part of this imaginary massage, my young client — let’s call him Robert Aaron Long — turns face-up. He takes my wrist and nudges it downwards before I quickly pull away.
March 28, 2021
A third groundskeeper plunged the shovel into the mound of dirt. The rabbi recited the Kaddish, but Rachel could only hear the ringing of her mother’s shrill voice, “I told you not to put your father on top of me, I get claustrophobic.”
March 26, 2021