I want to cry but I’m too tired to accomplish actual tears.

It’s Saturday morning and I wake up late, in the flat above the pub I work two nights a week in.

It’s a hot summer day in Chennai. I feel the sweat soaking my salwar.

I’m thirty-five weeks pregnant with my third child. Another boy. No girls for me. And maybe that’s okay.

May 5, 2012 is a word problem. I’ve been divorced 1,276 days (or 3 years, 5 months, and 29 days).

Echoes I searched distantly familiar rooms in the dark. Reaching blindly, but pulling and grasping nonetheless. Two days before what...

It’s been ten years since we last spoke. Ten years since Mom died, the last of our parents and grandparents.

A catalog (incomplete) of recent tattoos

My son is two years old today. I pick up Elmo balloons from the party store. I bake cupcakes and poke in toothpicks topped with Elmo’s face.

Ten years ago today: I was forty-four when my husband Bill left me for a twenty-nine-year-old. Our only child Ben was eleven.