Photo by Christy Lorio I could have stayed my ass at home, but I didn’t. It was a chemo week and I had already purchased a back country permit months ago and planned out this Grand Canyon overnight camping trip at Horseshoe Mesa, about three miles down the Grandview...
Like a bronze-colored sky god, he extends his arms to his sides. He bows his head in service to her expansive beauty. He turns to grab his board, but before entering the surf, he marks the sand with his feet—maybe in x’s. He repeats this motion three times as if he’s...
I walk by the side of the road in my best white mu’umu’u, my hair wild. I am waiting for someone to notice me out of the corner of their eye, someone who doesn’t know the rule. You wen remember for make teri chicken musubi, right? No like get da white lady on us this...
My first night in rehab, I was put in a room with a heroin addict. I was groggy from the medicine the nurse had given me to soften the cut from alcohol—for an alcoholic or for any kind of addict for that matter, immediately quitting could cause some internal issues...
We stopped at a hot pot called Guðrúnarlaug in Dalabyggð in Western Iceland. I can’t remember the time of day. In the summer months there were twenty-four hours of sunlight. The hot pot was a burning pool on a hilltop circled by stone. A tiny house for changing rested...
He loves me, a salty woman made of sobs with knobs and handles and spigots that bob and weave salt pebble wishes drips down my face — until no more tears dissolve and my lot of wife that has looked too late, too long — fades. He’s happy for a while to while away time...
