Blue Days
For Meme Meme called them her, “blue days.” I didn’t know what that meant then, but I remember her sayin’ it. “Meme, are you all right?” Momma would ask. “Oh yes, dahlin’. I’m just havin’ one of my blue days. I’m all right.” Now I know. I
Caught in the rain
I’m naked at my bar. Clothes on the floor. Wet. I got caught in the rain. It’s that time of year in the A. Movin’ into June. It was a pop-up shower. And it just caught me. Cold drop after cold drop. And I just stopped. I’ve
Phffft—
There’s a lot to contemplate over a pickle jar, fridge door ajar, wasting energy— energy the EPA doesn’t really care about anymore— in the quiet of my condo downtown. It got me today. It hasn’t in a while. But somehow, standing over that open jar, plunging my
6, 8, and 14 Athenians
I have the boys tonight—my nephews. The last time I saw them, Nono (6) said, “Three, when are we gonna stay at your house?” “I will come get you next weekend,” I told him. It’ll be a blink before they aren’t asking me those questions anymore. Busy
Ticking Time Bombs
My fucking A/C panel broke last night. She just died—reset—died—reset—died— and so on. Meanwhile it was getting warmer in the condo. I don’t do “hot”—not temperature-wise anyway. My home is arctic, and I like it that way. I hate it when things break
Tarragon
For my Momma, and for my Gran I like tarragon best of all the herbs. She don’t pussyfoot around. You’re either for her or you’re not. There’s no warmup. No middle. Just love me or don’t, baby. She’s just fine either way. Maybe it’
Oregano & Lavender
For M Lavender…bitchy queen. Have you ever tried to grow a lavender plant? Well— It seems simple. Full sun. Drought hardy. Well-draining soil. Water— Now here’s where we screw the pooch. Lavender needs water. But only so much water. Too much, she dies. Too little, she fries. It’
The Art of Directing Traffic
We like bookends, don’t we? Us, humans. We want a clean wrap. A bow on it all. I’ve spent all my life chasing bows— hell, maybe there is one somewhere out there for me. I don’t really know if I want a bookend anyway. I haven’t
Doing dishes
I don’t know who came up with those stupid, “dance like no one is watching” signs. You don’t “dance like no one is watching.” You dance when no one is watching. In the kitchen— While you’re putting up dishes. Maybe to Prince. Or Britney. Or Madonna. Or
a symphony in the park
I went to the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra in Piedmont Park tonight. I thought, “this is why you live here. In the city.” I sat there on the grass with my illegal glass of champagne and listened in the cool of the spring as the birds swirled over Lake Clara Meer.
Yell at your casseroles
People who do not speak to their ingredients are not real cooks. I don’t care what Ina or Martha think about that. That’s what I’ve decided. I was throwing together a dinner for my friend Jayson. His mom has been sick. And this is the South, and
New Chandelier
There’s a new chandelier hanging in my living room. We installed her today. She’s beautiful. I hung her with A, while M cooked our dinner. We sat on my balcony—newly refurbished. Mad brought her new boy around— he’s nice. The truth is, when you’re not