When I hang his shirts next to mine in the closet, there are surf brands, the same ones he wore when he had hair bleached white by the sun and waves. When his skin was tan and his mouth tasted like wintergreen gum and saltwater. When I spread my beach towel with arms wide and the tradewinds swooped down and lifted the corners from my fingertips like a magic carpet and I would nestle my body in hot white sand and lift my eyes to the sea and she would offer the lip of a wave for his surfboard and …
Relationship
Letters To My Daughter: On Our Feast of Words
To my dearest Kaia, I know you long for the letters to make sense, to unite themselves and speak to you. I know each syllable is a battle for you and I see you fighting. By the time you are able to read this well, you will have won the battle. You will have put in the hours of tracing your finger along the page and sounding out each painstaking phonics rule with your brows knit tight and the corner of your lower lip tucked between your teeth. You will have arranged letter tiles, your tiny …
Let Us Be About Kingdom Come: An Incourage Post
My granddaddy on my father’s side had klan ties. He wasn’t blood related, my dad never knew his real father, and somehow that makes me feel better, as if blood has anything to do with the way we’re blinded by hate and lies and all the separating we do when we make people less than or other. I’ve come to know that blood is the only thing that sets us free but that’s another story. Needless to say, I never really knew him. My dad was born into the dirty south in the 1950s. He was threadbare …
