I Stopped Praying (from Heavy Mental)

I heard her troubled murmurs tangled with the soft gravel of a man’s voice; his name was Not My Dad, and he was dancing with my mom in the too bright kitchen, down the hall. Their shadows came in waves, crashing into the darkness beneath my bedroom door. They’d just finished fucking, out in his

Rotting Penis Disease

Memories are just fragments of film. It’s odd, some of the events our brains retain, be they home movies, or pure fiction–intricate fabrications focused tighter and tighter over time. The power of suggestion is strong, indeed. My mother is one of those story tellers who believes in the fables she’s invented, says my dad. I

I Reign Over Sand

You, she, and he tethered to me–a chain gang we be, chain smokers answering chain letters for luck. I’m in the lead–you put me here, but all the bad calls you will make; we stop dead when you see a fancy man you’d like to fuck over with your madness.   That was years ago

A brief memoir for Tara, my beloved sister

I’m an excellent big sister–always have been, just ask Tara. Tara. My dusky hued beauty. I wanted a brother, for reasons I can no longer remember. I’m sure they were silly reasons, as I was just a five year old who believed no two people could have the same name; for fuck’s sake, I thought