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CategoryNonfiction

 

Scale

“The cleverer I am at miniaturizing the world, the better I possess it.” – Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space “My map and measurements yielded a thesis which I wrote out in ink and tried to prove mathematically: the notion that affiliation is borne by proximity, and that proximity is requisite …

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7-Up as a Cure for Irony

I pour a glass of 7-Up before a date with Jamie. Every time. I don’t eat dinner. I can’t. I tell my parents I’m not hungry. I carry the 7-Up into my bedroom, closing the door. 7-Up is honeysuckle summers, the slant of sun at dusk on hydrangeas, the sweetness …

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Different Yellows, Whole and Broken

I recently transcribed one of my husband Séan’s bedtime stories onto a gold nightdress of mine in gold ink. In the daylight, the words shine above the matte gold fabric, but at night the ink disappears, and I fear his story is lost. I search for it, prospecting letters hidden …

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Losing Something So Small

cw: pregnancy loss The sky was bright blue that day. There was the kind of lush wind that made you believe you could happily delete all your social media accounts and easily, miraculously, open a goat farm and make a living selling cheese. I rested my head against the window …

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Words You Taught Me

Rubes: People who disgusted you. Gorge: What rose when people disgusted you. Y-M-C-Ack: The place where the rubes prattled on—especially in the women’s locker room—and made your gorge rise. You were a magnet for spit-talkers. The sight of blood running down a leg. The Y-IRE: The monthly newsletter published by …

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Pine Street

cw: addiction A red pickup driven by no one he knew or ever would know came around the corner and swerved into his lane. The motorcycle slipped out from under him on the dirt shoulder. He flew forward, rolling a hundred yards and taking out a picket fence, stood up, …

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Tell Me the Secret of Your Great Strength

The morning after a man was elected who had, arguably, the worst head of hair in American presidential history, I began pulling out my own. I would watch the news or read the paper, and my hands would wander, fitfully, until they found my hairline, twirling a few strands experimentally …

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The Atomic Age

My mother’s old room, mostly emptied of furnishings, has one wall lined with cardboard boxes. A system of organization has arisen first from her sorting, then from mine after she moved into assisted living. Boxes with photos of freckled relatives from Oklahoma on my dad’s side are separated from boxes …

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Faith at A&W

Dear Josh, Today, I pulled my A&W mug down from a cabinet. There was a dead spider in it, a thick coating of dust on the rim. It’s been thirty years this spring since I stole that beveled glass mug, thirty years since I saw you. Do you remember sledding …

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