Loving Renee Back
Yet, in my moments of hope, I wonder: If trans signifies a crossing, might it cross the space between life and death?
Essays
168 posts
The Irrevocable Condition
These are all preposterous, illogical ideas that we wrap around ourselves as children, then cast off when we are somehow not anymore.
Back into The Garden: The (Re)turn at the End of Ross Gay’s Poem “To the Mulberry Tree”
Close Reads is an essays column exploring a specific page, paragraph, or sentence from a book, film, piece of music, or other media.
How to Feed a Dying Body
The difficulty comes when patients learn that dying or waiting to die is still living, and therefore the command for narrative lingers.
Crows in this Part of New Delhi
After drinking water, crows wipe their beaks by perching on a Dish TV antenna, some on a bare-branched Mango tree, and some on a parapet wall.
What Would E.T. Do?
A coming-of-age story for a boy, family, and civilization. A parable of wonder and crisis that taught me things my parents couldn’t.
Corey Sobel, Strictly Speaking, Doesn’t Exist
While I lost my faith long ago, I have clearly retained this belief in, need for, existential variousness.
Syncopation
I need them to change the music to something harmless. Something by a blond pop star.
from Sex with a Brain Injury
It comes from the sky: a meteor, a falling object, a box. It comes out of nowhere, a car, a baseball, an opponent’s fist, a partner’s fist, an officer’s baton. . . .
Ghosts in the Mirror
My adoptive mother tells me I was precocious enough as a toddler to ask if I came from her belly. She says this was a sign I comprehended my adoption so early she never had to explain it to me.
Debtors to a Mercy We Never Begged For
No, home is not as simple as the heart-shaped sandwiches Ma placed into my lunch bag on Valentine’s Day or the way my father confessed to listening to me sing shower showtunes or washing a car beside my brother as the summer sun beat down.
Letter to My Mentee (October 26, 2023)
“This,” I say to my daughter, choking up, “is civilization. Not banking, not technology. Not weaponry that kills without a fight. This,” I go on, seeing her face pale, “is what it means to be civilized.”