The name of Reuben Jackson’s poetry class, “Bold as Love,” intrigued me even though I had never much valued poetry. I had no accolades, no awards, no audience.
That August, the wind carried away the post-rain steam, leaving the morning cooler. But no such luck today. This feeble breeze barely has grace enough to...
I was starting my second attempt at graduate school. The first was back in 2007, a Master’s in Classical Acting from a reputable school in London. Strike One.
This is the day after you said you wanted to talk, and for a week, chaos reigned every part of my insides. Most things in life give warnings, like the low...
Mom sits in a puffy gray hospital chair next to her bed in the Orchard Manor nursing home in Lancaster, Wisconsin. She leans back, as if she doesn’t have...
I’m reading Kate Walbert’s A Short History of Women by flashlight next to my toddler while he falls asleep. He needs to play with my hair to drift off...
