December 18, 2014 Six women gathered around and bravely shared their writing, some for the first time. Their enthusiasm and laughter were contagious, their easy camaraderie a stroke of luck. Workshops don’t always give rise to a circle of friends, but this one did. I could see that much. What I couldn’t see yet was how it was also working as the start of something else.
December 17, 2014 Mothers stopped peeling potatoes and scrubbing clothes to stand on bare porches and watch. We fell on the weeds in front of us and cupped our hands into imaginary telescopes and pressed them to our eyes to watch the kite as long as we could.
December 16, 2014 I’ve been asked more times than I can count why I marched with the NAACP. Friends wondered if I believe Michael Brown was really innocent. Marchers wondered why a white poet from Denver would make such a journey. There’s no simple answer to either question.
December 15, 2014 It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman of a certain chest size will always be in a want of a well-fitting bra. This axiom is never truer than when said woman is a runner in need of a new sports bra.
December 12, 2014 My mother understood that my father’s death was at hand. For my part, I understood that their love for one another and their straightforward, practical faith would see them through this profoundest of transitions.
October 20, 2014 After college, I moved a dozen times—from Indiana to New Jersey, Wyoming, Vermont, Connecticut, and Tennessee—before settling in Chicago. Each of these places etched themselves on my psyche, but Nashville, with its fruit tea, tangy barbeque, and hot chicken, was the place where I learned to be a writer.
