I sit at my desk at home in my New Jersey suburb, writing poems about gun violence, and I hear police sirens. My first thought is that there is a shooter at my daughters’ high school three blocks away. Since the Newtown massacre, police presence, sirens, and lockdowns are a feature of my daughters’ lives. Kids accept this new reality. My girls tell me that they are used to being told to “shelter in place”—which means there is no active danger—and they often can decode when a “lockdown drill” … [Read more...] about Bourbon and Milk: Response Training
daughters
Her Cousin Lena
Rose kept a notebook near and recorded her phone conversation with her mother, just because. A part of her, the part that supported herself and paid for her condoms, cigarettes, and rent, assumed a recording of her conversation with her mother might one day come in handy. Her mother wasn’t afraid of psychological blackmail. She was constantly reminding Rose of the things she should be grateful for. Rose was grateful. She pressed record. Rose’s mother’s voice was muffled by wind sounds; she … [Read more...] about Her Cousin Lena
Things American: In the Air, Election Night 2016
My ears won’t pop, and the bites on my right arm itch, my arm and neck—red flares I can’t ascribe to any particular predator, just marks of Texas. I get a second tiny bottle of whiskey. My taller-than-me daughter sleeps against my shoulder, too old these days, too grown up. We are over the Rockies, Denver to Helena, a tiny plane half full. I get the second whiskey because the flight attendant asks if I want another before she closes out her till. No flight attendant has ever asked me this. I … [Read more...] about Things American: In the Air, Election Night 2016