"Fine." It’s like saying “beige.” Am I molten purple? Ashen red? Storm cloud black tinged with emerald sadness?
This high school teacher then touched my daughter’s hand, the small of her back, her soul.
One unshakable truth is that home is where the body has been.
I pull on my shoes and jacket and reach to unlatch the front door of our houseboat. Loud screams stop me in my tracks.
The subject line of my sister’s email to me on the anniversary of our father’s death contained his initials, followed by a question mark: RDB?
Marina Tsvetaeva was an exile all her life. She coined a famous phrase: All poets are Yids, which means that all poets are Jews, exiles, foreign. A real poet cannot be comfortably placed in any context.
We Carnies didn’t see ourselves as being in the restaurant business. We were in the social-change business.
Into such an India I am born. As the firstborn daughter, I enjoy an enviable position in the family and am subject to huge amounts of pampering.
To me, being a slut meant being promiscuous, and being promiscuous meant being desirable, and being desirable meant being powerful.