What your lips felt like
That last kiss I gave you
Through the car window like it’s the 1950s
You in your grandfather’s Porsche
Me in French stilettos that still aren’t broken in
I wore them last night
I am older
Or is it humbled
I think I’m kinder
My shrink says I’m angry
[God forbid a woman’s anger]
So I’m trying again
Pretending things don’t matter
Like looks and
Wit and will you?
Give him a go, says everyone
He’s good for you
Because you’ve fucked up so regally when left to your…
As waves of Covid news relentlessly break on our consciousness, several close friends text me about their personal losses. Deaths made even more brutal because they came so swiftly — and there are no mourning protocols during a worldwide lockdown. How do we deal with death when we can’t even touch each another? The fleshy comfort of arms and chest and shoulders. The shared tears and tequila. The gathered remembrances now put off until we can finally leave our homes, bleary moles blinking in the summer sun (hopefully).
Digital solace is cool, at best.
I think my friends turn to…
Everyone is asking why—and how—on earth I practically got into fisticuffs with another mother at little D’s first ballet recital last Saturday.
Paris. It was a dark and stormy night. (It really was.) Parents, grandparents, aunts (the uncles were watching Brazil vs. Chile), and roped-in siblings were impatiently crowding the narrow entrance to the theater where their little darlings would be performing froggy jetés and quivering arabesques. Or in the case of little D’s class of four-year-olds, skipping around and waving arms out of sync with the music.
Or was that was just me? …
Dman and I discussed our resolutions on New Year’s Eve, the usual ones about family, career and fitness figuring among them. Since then, I’ve been rethinking them, hearing about other people’s, and feeling vaguely dissatisfied.
Beyond the typical self-improvement jazz, there’s something else I want to do this year and I think it’s being—or maybe, thinking—larger. I want to get beyond the petty stuff, the little annoyances that can ruin a day if you dwell on them, the nit-picking disagreements that can ruin a relationship if you let them. …
When I was little, I remember hearing how my aunt, the second wife of my dad’s wealthy older brother, had had surgery on her eyes. She wanted the double eyelid, so prized by Asians as a mark of beauty, and had the means to get it. My mom, who came by her large, creased eyes naturally, would snipe how the surgery was botched and made her look weird. …
Little D had her first taste of girl-on-girl cruelty yesterday and it makes me feel so many things: sadness, anger, guilt, helplessness, bewilderment.
The story, which is still a bit unclear (preschooler testimony not being the most reliable and the nanny didn’t hear the full exchange), is that she was playing at her friend’s house and then they were meeting another girl at the park. The friend’s mom told me earlier that this girl (or the “à mardi prochain” as I’m always going to think of her*) is very possessive and doesn’t like her twosome (with Little D’s friend) becoming…
I just finished my second residency last week and am in that space of dazed, inspired, exhausted and awe-struck that seems fairly typical of the residency portion of the low-res MFA. What’s that, you ask? Basically, it’s a part-time Masters program. Which is ideal for a full-time mother like me.
Over ten days, we writers (who’ve spent the semester sequestered at home) are brought together for an intense program of lectures, readings and workshops. We’re dazzled by the star power of our professors and guest speakers, which include Pulitzer Prize winners and MacArthur geniuses. That’s the awe-struck and inspiring part…