Pretty
A short poem about what it felt like to me to grow up as a woman, especially a woman in a strict religion.
Jan 261 min read
Death, grief, and my Aunt Shirley
I couldn’t then, not because of my Aunt Shirley, but because of what she represented: the people who had passed through my life, the people who lived on the periphery, and the people who loved me in ways too small to say but too big to not be felt.
Jan 224 min read
