It’s true. Sometimes I tire of the poets and I want plain words. Unhurried, slow words with lazy syllables. Maybe even stilted words that fall like heavy bricks and land with a singular purpose. But even then, we’re building. I just fed you a simile, even if filled with clay and dust. Words are busy little things, so much more than the feel in your mouth as you roll the letters down your tongue or march them through your teeth. They are meaning and vision, color and sound, texture and taste. …
Story
Coming of Age in This American Life
I. As a girl, I learned about racism from my white father. He taught me it was evil which was the exact opposite of his upbringing where racism was as natural as a Carolinian drawl and black-eyed peas with salty cured ham hocks and collard greens. His blonde haired blue-eyed roots were soaked in white supremacy, fertilized by poverty and lack of education, deep south segregation, and his mother telling him not to come home if he ever got caught playing with a n*$#@!% kid again. His kin found …
A Mind On Fire: A SheLoves Post
My life is one long rerouting. Only I’ve not had the pleasure of Google Maps patiently telling me that I’ve taken a wrong turn and that it’s calculating the next best option to get me to my destination. Instead, I’ve lived one-way streets and stop signs, merging into single lanes and tight spaces. My life has been roadblocks and potholes and miles out of my way with no rest stop in sight. I type the address into my phone to get to her office. Google Maps turns me this way and that and I …
