“Why do you have tattoos?” I often hear.
“Because I like tattoos,” I say.
Some people understand. Some don’t. And some don’t like it…
I’m in Philadelphia, on my couch, next to my dog. I’m trying to write nonfiction. I have published some fiction, so I think of myself as a fiction writer. I have published some poetry, so sometimes I think of myself as a poet. I have published a few essays, but I have never….
In steps at your command/
down the plank of a tall/
fast ship with the salt/
of sex across its lips./
Her son’s dreadful bodies, buried by that mass, drenched the Earth/
with streams of blood, and they say she warmed it to new life,/
so that a trace of her children might remain, transforming it into/
the shape of human beings….
This past summer my husband, Derek, and I spent seven weeks in Mexico, where he took immersive Spanish classes, and I holed up in our rented apartment finalizing some contracted writing projects. I also spent my days trying to learn….