A graphic essay in collaboration with illustrator Meggan Kehrli featured in the eco-writing section of this issue. Read more.
Paula in Conversation with the Kenyon Review
I grew up in a home that was filled with both science and religion: my father a chemist, my mother a devout Christian. Therefore, I tend not to see the two as necessarily separate. Read More.
“Rh,” The Southern Review, lyric essay
A basin of blood sitting on the floor. The same one used for washing. Nobody thinks to dip their hand in and spread some over the farmhouse door, warning the angel of death to stay away, not to come for this child. Read More.
“Margarine: A Public and Personal History,” The Rumpus, essay
When I think of sitting at the kitchen table as a child eating dinner, I don’t have memories of luscious homemade foods. I don’t see fresh pasta or fried tortillas. I don’t see tarts or puddings. I see margarine. Read More.
"Color TV," TriQuarterly, lyric essay
The lessons come in the mail. Packages like gifts. When opened, there are capacitors, transistor sockets, and circuit board connectors, neatly arranged along with the assembly manuals. These my father will carefully follow, filling in the question-and-answer sections in his cramped script. Read More.
"Boarderlands," 2nd Story, storytelling
It was a warm, summer night in Boston. I was asleep in my bedroom, on the first floor of a three-family house. The windows were open, letting in damp summer air and orange light from the streetlamp outside. I remember waking and opening my eyes slowly. Then … jumping. Listen.