March

March

July 13, 2021

Watch me move my mouth like I know what it’s asking. Which is always the past, a redoing it.

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The Hill Was Flat

The Hill Was Flat

May 18, 2021

I have never said to my own mother, I wish you lost me in a wild place, but it is true.

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The G-Word

The G-Word

May 04, 2021

At every sleepover birthday party, we take turns lying on the shag rug, spread our fingers under Julie-Diana-Deanna’s head/shoulders/hips/arms/legs/feet, and recite little-girl mumbo jumbo, trying to levitate each other.

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Composite Characters: Alice

Composite Characters: Alice

April 06, 2021

“The first few years of my life were original, then I kept replaying the same scenes with new actors,” I said, trying to explain myself, to make some kind of amends.

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1962: A Ghost Story

1962: A Ghost Story

March 16, 2021

“Honey.” Her voice is still gentle. “A man can’t move into another man’s house.”

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This Could Be Love - Ruminate Magazine

This Could Be Love

February 20, 2021

She drags me to each room, to each shadow: the witch, the devil, her own figure at the space where a closet meets the wall.

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Boredom Interrupted

Boredom Interrupted

February 02, 2021

The flies struggle, but I persevere, and after what seems like forever, wings held tight against their bodies, the flies are sliding down the glass on streams of the liquid, like a fatal carnival ride.

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Wait for Me

Wait for Me

January 19, 2021

I might spend five minutes yelling into the phone, "It's me, Mamina! Your Granddaughter!" And I will hear, "Who? Who?" And I'll try and try again to no avail and think she can't hear me anymore, she can't see me anymore.

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Laundry

Laundry

January 05, 2021

 I left after fifteen years. It was decades before I wore white, again.

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Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy - Ruminate Magazine

Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy

December 08, 2020

Baking is precise and often pretty; cooking, more improvisational; I like them both and lose myself that way, which is a life skill and I recommend it.

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My Condolences - Ruminate Magazine

My Condolences

November 17, 2020

The girl, whose name I never learned, didn’t die before the song was over, and we never saw her again.

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Alterations - Ruminate Magazine

Alterations

November 04, 2020

At twelve, I started sewing for myself and tasted command. 

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Waiting - Ruminate Magazine

Waiting

October 27, 2020

I think about my mother in the garden hilling green beans, and I asked her if I could go on birth control, and she didn’t say anything, which meant “yes,” which meant “no,” which meant, “I’m hilling beans right now.

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Dream Journal - Ruminate Magazine

Dream Journal

October 13, 2020

I’m a little girl with short hair again, but I can no longer slip back into the silent games she used to play.

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Like Angels At Us - Ruminate Magazine

Like Angels At Us

September 29, 2020

Long before the virus, you and I abandoned reality. All of us together.

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News - Ruminate Magazine

News

September 15, 2020

No one talks of these fights later. No one talks of anything when my mother is around, and no one talks of her when she isn’t.

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The Wasted Things - Ruminate Magazine

The Wasted Things

August 20, 2020

When I find the maggot-fetus on the floor of our shower, I feel intensely fearful that our skin is something that is almost all gone, almost all out;

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Avalon - Ruminate Magazine

Avalon

August 04, 2020

I know now what it means to be full to bursting with eager limbs, tears, and milk. I know, too, what it means to stretch something open with my own fullness by way of desire.

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Horizon - Ruminate Magazine

Horizon

July 28, 2020

The snow is thick, alive and panting, a roaring wall of white in the space between my father and me.

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Given Light and a Mother Who Was Always Dying in Secret - Ruminate Magazine

Given Light and a Mother Who Was Always Dying in Secret

July 17, 2020

Dragonflies can tell the real stars from glint on lake-surface. They fly to lesser suns, their wings open to duty, dipping to mire. 

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The Wind - Ruminate Magazine

The Wind

July 14, 2020

Our parents rode in the enclosed cabin of our classic white Ford truck. They were talking but we couldn’t hear them. They never looked back to see us and we knew there was no room for us up in that sweetly, quiet cab.

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To Remember A Stranger - Ruminate Magazine

To Remember A Stranger

July 13, 2020

The more people I have met, the closer I have been to suffering. Many times, this makes me want to not meet more people, and, in fact, un-meet people, like a girl in a video I resent having seen or a boy in a gas station at which I didn’t have to stop.

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Woman - Ruminate Magazine

Woman

July 08, 2020

Mom turns to sand. She becomes my mother. No edges.

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Hazy Skies - Ruminate Magazine

Hazy Skies

July 06, 2020

Where I am living now, the seasons have no pivot... Springs are mercurial, senselessly violent in their cold and snow. I experience winter here like a death, wait endlessly for a green that will outgrow my grief.

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Woman - Ruminate Magazine

Woman

May 21, 2020

I told her she was the perfect mom. This was when she tried to pull the tubes from her arms the gloves from her hands. One of the nurses said, “Oh, she’s a fighter.” 

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Given Light and a Mother Who Was Always Dying in Secret - Ruminate Magazine

Given Light and a Mother Who Was Always Dying in Secret

May 14, 2020

No one remembers her mother right or observes the rites to keep her whole. The woman becomes fragments, patches for quilts, and the daughter loses the needle, what North should have drawn from her hand and pinned where she could always find it.

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The Day You Were Dying - Ruminate Magazine

The Day You Were Dying

April 28, 2020

I ate lunch looking out at the struggling town and remembered the day your son and I showed up unannounced on your doorstep and shared our news, and how you invited the nearest relatives to celebrate our engagement with burritos and Pepsi in your formal dining room, our paper-wrapped meal eaten over a crocheted lace tablecloth.

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Pink Balloon - Ruminate Magazine

Pink Balloon

April 14, 2020

To my mind, I am looking at a snapshot of myself and my dad at the same age. I remember then thinking how my father, a carpenter by trade, could fix anything, and maybe a decade or so later, how he seemed to break everything. When caring for animals, it’s straightforward: be gentle with them, be firm when necessary but never hurt them.

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Hazy Skies

Hazy Skies

April 02, 2020

Where I am living now, the seasons have no pivot... Springs are mercurial, senselessly violent in their cold and snow. I experience winter here like a death, wait endlessly for a green that will outgrow my grief.    

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How to Be Divorced

How to Be Divorced

March 19, 2020

Your sister who has gone through her own divorce not long ago and still was able to show up and walk alongside the whole time. You look at her struggle, her transformation, her healing. You study it, not wanting to miss anything.

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Letters To You

Letters To You

March 12, 2020

Dear Grandma, One day, I came home from school, and you were just gone. Mom said it was because you missed Grandpa and you missed Korea. I knew better. You left because you were fed up with me, fed up with trying to teach Korean to a granddaughter who kept refusing it.

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Letter from 1996: Rembrandt and Winter on a Turkish Peninsula

Letter from 1996: Rembrandt and Winter on a Turkish Peninsula

January 23, 2020

I am here to read, write, and draw. I am here to find solace, a new center, to torture myself in the wake of a failed marriage. I am here to avoid anyone who might perceive my heart is broken. To hide. When the sun comes out, I walk by the sea.

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