When I hear someone talk about “the silver linings of cancer,” I am so immediately turned off by the framing that it’s made me wonder if I’m just disinterested…
Read More
“Is it time to talk about stopping?”
She is watching you quietly, waiting for your answer.
Her question is a betrayal. She is supposed to be midwifing you safely to the other end, not making you worry that the pain might destroy you.
Read More
I am a painter who uses watercolor to personify my struggles and journey of my mental health. I started using paint as a form of journaling because I missed having a creative outlet to voice my inner turmoil…
Read More
My first mothers did not have wombs. I have two original ancient mothers in this glittering world. They imparted wisdom to us when we were not yet real people. Their mythical bodies enliven the stone they rest in and watch by their grace this new generation. I carry my mother’s and grandmother’s eggs — their blood.
Read More
Anonymous, Untitled, IVF placenta print with acrylic paint, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.
Read More“Just swallow quick and you won’t feel it squirm,” Abby says.
I wipe my palms on my jeans. No way. There is no way. Abby holds the spider by one leg and, I swear, its hairs sway with the breeze and I think about the feel of that spider in my throat.
Think about how it will stick, those spindly legs working their way back onto my tongue and then I think about the taste.
“You won’t have to bite it or anything,” Abby says.
My stomach pushes towards my tonsils. My breakfast tries to surface. I swallow it back, though I want to let it fly, dream of spewing Cheerios in Abby’s face. I smile. Accidentally. The idea of splitting that spider with my teeth, knowing it will squirt, erases that smile. I also know if I puke on Abby, I’m a goner…
Read More