Nonfiction
“She weighs a hundred pounds shivering wet but calls her biceps Lightning and Thunder.”
”In summer, Nebraska skies splinter, lightning wrecking the blue dome, splintering it to shards. Storms come on sudden, though the birds know and take to skies in a cackle, wings beating warning.”
“It was Christmas Eve, so my mother was killing lobsters in our kitchen sink.”
“When my nephew, Dan Barber, a well-known chef, was asked the question, ‘Does food taste better when it’s made with love?’ he replied with a laugh, ‘Food with love! I’m a very angry cook in my kitchen! I yell a lot . . . I hope not, because I’m really in trouble.’”
“I was withering in the suburban dead space between New York City and Philadelphia when I first learned of the wild woman archetype, courtesy of Clarissa Pinkola Estes’s Women Who Run With the Wolves.”
“When we name our state pie after the sweetest thing we can think of, grab your knees, rub at all that syrupy blood collecting at the base of your skull.”
“My daughter balances herself against the cracked-vinyl-covered chair and wraps her fingers around the chrome leg of our kitchen table.”
“‘Any pregnancies?’ The ultrasound tech asked with her blue-scrubbed back to me.”
“On the day it was reported that Jacob Blake was handcuffed to his hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down after being shot in the back seven times by a Wisconsin police officer, my mother called me upset, and said, ‘We should give up on this land and move to another country because America’ll never accept Black people. America’ll always see us as subhuman.’”
Nonfiction
“She weighs a hundred pounds shivering wet but calls her biceps Lightning and Thunder.”
”In summer, Nebraska skies splinter, lightning wrecking the blue dome, splintering it to shards. Storms come on sudden, though the birds know and take to skies in a cackle, wings beating warning.”
“It was Christmas Eve, so my mother was killing lobsters in our kitchen sink.”
“When my nephew, Dan Barber, a well-known chef, was asked the question, ‘Does food taste better when it’s made with love?’ he replied with a laugh, ‘Food with love! I’m a very angry cook in my kitchen! I yell a lot . . . I hope not, because I’m really in trouble.’”
“I was withering in the suburban dead space between New York City and Philadelphia when I first learned of the wild woman archetype, courtesy of Clarissa Pinkola Estes’s Women Who Run With the Wolves.”
“When we name our state pie after the sweetest thing we can think of, grab your knees, rub at all that syrupy blood collecting at the base of your skull.”
“My daughter balances herself against the cracked-vinyl-covered chair and wraps her fingers around the chrome leg of our kitchen table.”
“‘Any pregnancies?’ The ultrasound tech asked with her blue-scrubbed back to me.”
“On the day it was reported that Jacob Blake was handcuffed to his hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down after being shot in the back seven times by a Wisconsin police officer, my mother called me upset, and said, ‘We should give up on this land and move to another country because America’ll never accept Black people. America’ll always see us as subhuman.’”
Nonfiction
“She weighs a hundred pounds shivering wet but calls her biceps Lightning and Thunder.”
”In summer, Nebraska skies splinter, lightning wrecking the blue dome, splintering it to shards. Storms come on sudden, though the birds know and take to skies in a cackle, wings beating warning.”
“It was Christmas Eve, so my mother was killing lobsters in our kitchen sink.”
“When my nephew, Dan Barber, a well-known chef, was asked the question, ‘Does food taste better when it’s made with love?’ he replied with a laugh, ‘Food with love! I’m a very angry cook in my kitchen! I yell a lot . . . I hope not, because I’m really in trouble.’”
“I was withering in the suburban dead space between New York City and Philadelphia when I first learned of the wild woman archetype, courtesy of Clarissa Pinkola Estes’s Women Who Run With the Wolves.”
“When we name our state pie after the sweetest thing we can think of, grab your knees, rub at all that syrupy blood collecting at the base of your skull.”
“My daughter balances herself against the cracked-vinyl-covered chair and wraps her fingers around the chrome leg of our kitchen table.”
“‘Any pregnancies?’ The ultrasound tech asked with her blue-scrubbed back to me.”
“On the day it was reported that Jacob Blake was handcuffed to his hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down after being shot in the back seven times by a Wisconsin police officer, my mother called me upset, and said, ‘We should give up on this land and move to another country because America’ll never accept Black people. America’ll always see us as subhuman.’”
