Penny

Her brain tries to override the welling of nausea. She feels it in her feet, filling her legs before she realizes she can barely move. Weighted down and filling up, she tries to get comfortable because she’s trying to stay present, to present herself as pleasant. Ignoring how she feels, despite the sensation of churning…

On the Epistemology of Postpartum Depression

With respect to the epistemology of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, we follow the rules of the road. When I say we, I mean all of us. We collectively look at the different formulations of objective truths about PPD and agree that it is what we say it is, lead by the language of science….

Ironing

Why don’t you write about men? he asked. What do you mean? I asked. You say you write about women, but I wonder why you don’t write about men? he asked. You don’t think I write about men? I asked. Your writing is all about women, right? he asked. No, my writing is all about…

Lynne: Part I

I noticed the materials in the back of her car first. Vacuum, mops, buckets, several brooms. Used cleaning supplies in a trunk always catch my eye. Then I saw the fingernails. 3-inch fake nails—maroon with a sheen–attached to white fat old digits, twisted around the steering wheel. Like bejeweled catcher’s mitts. Scan up the arm…

My Bad

I remember the feel of my grandfather’s dresser under my hands as I felt the beginning. Black cardigan sweater. Blue shirt, elastic waist black Kmart pants. Two days later they would be bagged up and handed to me much like forensic evidence of what had gone down. What had been killed. Blood soaked underwear, puke…