I remember you. I took you in when you didn’t want me to. Shelter from the riders on the storm.
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Good Night, Sweet Boy
I consider the calculus, how many steps to the stage, the likelihood of distraction with all the crowd smells and ground noms, what if someone careens into the aisle right on top of him?
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New Orleans!
My last and only time in the Crescent City, I was 20, a roadtrip pilgrimage to goth Mecca with Anna and Bennett to poke through cemeteries, corset shops and dance floors, adamant we had no interest in stalking Anne Rice.
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I said yes
In June 2011 I said yes when Bree cajoled me into coming to the Twin Cities Improv Fest afterparty, like we were the cool kids, not superfan creepers.
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Leaf Peepin
October saw us on aeroplanes herk-jerkin to Boston that chewed us up in traffic and spit us out on 93. It was dark and stormy when we reached our destination—a New Hampshire cabin owned by Arthur’s aunt and uncle.
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Horse of a Different Color
I pranced, galloped, sweat in troughs, high-hooved children and nuzzled howling teens, delighting looky-loos and certified queens and posed for dozens of selfies.
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weeding wonder
I’m doing grubby pulls, the grossest of the gross, a final sweep before we RFID everything. Get those torn, ragged, stained, worn smokers’ home monstrosities off the shelf.
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Big Bend and Marfa
We wanted to camp in Big Bend and return to the McDonald Observatory. See the heavens through giant telescopes, through our naked eyes, tiny orbs in the galaxy and the Marfa lights.
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snail chainmail
He shines at cutting to the chase. Upfront about openness and great at advice, our hearts have often been in the best worst place, and he never lets me get away with not knowing what I’m really saying.
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decembering
Into a false winter where the sun still feels a balmy 69 then sets when it damn please.
Narratives
Longer posts of creative nonfiction.
