Nothing I write can make a white, womyn-born-womyn accept a trans lesbian of color, nor force a bigoted family to offer a decent Christmas to their queer child. Nothing I write will stop the rage of a bully who thinks trans women like me should die. Nothing I write will block the bullets flying in an Orlando nightclub. My best writing can’t even stop a Texas school from keeping a child out of the bathroom.
At this point, I am so tempted to protest, “until it does.” Continue reading →
This is how it is every day. One small white pill. Two slightly larger yellow pills. Four syringes filled with clear liquid, drawn and depressed and redrawn to eliminate any air bubbles. Four pricks of the finger producing four drops of blood, plump, round and bright red. Cross your fingers and wait- Continue reading →
A Quasi-Scientific Study of Women with No Mothers Every study starts with a feeling. To some scientists it reads as gut instinct, but in my case it was more like fierce joy. No, not joy. Solidarity. Self-recognition. Also steroids. Because the first time I met another woman with no mother, I felt myself grow a … Continue reading →
My Grandson’s Feet I. My Army soldier son-in-law sent my daughter a short instant message on Facebook from Kandahar, Afghanistan one night, about how he had just seen a soldier’s feet blown off at the ankles in Afghanistan when the guy stepped in the wrong place at the wrong time. My son-in-law messaged that he … Continue reading →
The First Gay Space: Getting Back to Reality After the Tragedy at Pulse From where I’m standing I can see the earth suspended thousands of miles away and it really is just as people who have seen it at this distance always describe it. Suddenly it seems unthinkable to have names for oceans, lines to … Continue reading →
The Body Remembers, Tua-Back I remember this time in color and images with no sound. I remember my oversized multi-colored coat that I seem to be wearing in every picture. I am always dressed in my Sunday best, normally a skirt and a blouse, or a long dress. Clothes not meant to be played in, … Continue reading →
For issue 8, each editor selected their pieces based off of particular, meaningful themes. We’ve decided to publish these works as a folio in their specific genre so readers can feel how they interact and create a dialogue with each other. Get ready to read dangerously. Nonfiction: Body of Evidence Guest Editor: Karolyn Gehrig … Continue reading →
My stomach doesn’t discriminate. I’ve thrown up Dubra. I’ve thrown up Grey Goose.
I’ve thrown up while dressed as Abraham Lincoln.
I’ve thrown up with a pirate hat on and shamrocks on my cheeks.
According to my doctor, my stomach produces a lot of acid. My first AOL screen name was TumsRockMyWorld. Continue reading →
Dad always talked about America like everything there was bigger, like shit that happened there actually mattered. Mom laughed, called him a Yankee potato-eater, but I guess he wasn’t kidding after all. Continue reading →
It probably won’t sound like it, but this is a love story. It starts during Christmas in 1985 at Birchwood, a long-term inpatient institution for people with what was broadly termed mental health disorders. Continue reading →