My spouse went to read yesterday’s post with the meme of the ’90s kid about to instant message your girl, and he was confused. Gender trouble! “Is that you?” he asked. “No!” I said. “I didn’t make that meme!” “Oh, ok,” he said. “Wasn’t sure.” “I didn’t look like a boy that much!” I said.
I was watching a poetry reading online, with several readers. A lady I don’t know read poems about her husband dying unexpectedly in a car wreck. In her between-poem chatter, she said, “Grief is a solitary journey. We have to do it alone, in our own way.” I stopped the video and started to cry
My ass is huge and trustworthy. Yes, my ass will be my ass, all day, without fail. It’s big enough to confound chairs. It’s hella pretty, though odd. Odd with the lower, flatish wide part, and the upper part, also wide, which has a fat pad over my tailbone. Also considered odd could be its
I have a friend who is dying. We’ve been penpals for almost 30 years, since I was a teenager. I’ve never met him in person, but I saw his photo: he is an old white guy who lives near where I come from. A little north of there. He’s a poet, and I’m a poet,