Unable to sleep (unfinished work, lab reports) (don’t ask, don’t ask), but tomorrow’s pickup day, so I make myself get out of bed to take out the trash. As I’m walking to the gate, I see myself, back from taking out the trash. He’s carrying a scale under his arm. I’m not (yet). I want to ignore him; I hope he’s going to ignore me. At least the moon is up; the moon is fat and yellow and full. If there are now two of me all over again, there aren’t two of those (yet (checking) ok). The air …
Emily Dickinson at Home Depot
My community is bolts and washers. Alloyed metal is the fusion of two, just like me, but I’m alone in this aisle. Plumbing is what we don’t want to see; we put it behind cupboards or in the ground, but the heart is dependent on pathways and valves. I could stay here for hours if only the men in those orange aprons would leave me alone. Love is geometry, yes, but I’m overwhelmed by the possibility of so many angles. Well, not overwhelmed— I see the extrapolations, lines and their intersections, …
Privacy
On the first Sunday of October in 1988, Mr. and Mrs. Suzuki drove my suitcases to the next homestay family, the Yashiros; I followed behind on my 50cc Honda Tact. Mr. Yashiro— a busier carpenter than Mr. Suzuki, judging by his absence— had built a home for his family with amenities like climate control in every room. In the front hall bathroom, he had also installed a washlet: an evolved toilet that directed a jet of cleansing water in the direction of my butt at the tap of a remote control. The …
Crunchy
After my mother dreamt that the cow she was eating was her own mother, bovine eyes terrified and crying, we went vegetarian. Tofu, tempeh, and seitan had yet to catch on in Atlanta, so she replaced our 8-ounce reusable container for bulk grind-your-own crunchy peanut butter with a 16-ounce jar. Creamy peanut butter epitomized the normal life I just knew was better. Jif’s predictably standard smell represented clothes bought from the Gap, not stitched together interior design scraps my …
Making Friends in Adulthood:
Why We Never Leave Seventh Grade Shortly before turning 50, I had an epiphany. It wasn't one of those full-blown, Network-style, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" moments. I didn't wake up one day and suddenly decide that I needed to leave my husband or quit my job or move my family across the ocean. I'd already done two of those before turning 40, anyway. My revelation was physical in nature. After spending more than 30 years as a casual runner, my …
The Eleven Directions of Kansas
The author makes no claim as to the sanity, safety, or legality of any of the practices described in the following. Readers are advised to exercise common sense before attempting any of the practices here described while driving a motor vehicle. When the Kansas Turnpike opened in 1956, it was a magical passage through the Flint Hills. As a six-year-old from Wichita, I knew nothing of the concerns of ranchers, farmers, or the Department of Transportation. The Turnpike and the Flint Hills were …