Advertisement

The Aftermath

I’m braiding the hair of a woman who disinvited me from her wedding when it occurs to me I’m not good at boundaries. She’s seated on a twin bed with a white, raised-pattern coverlet while I stand behind her, thin blond hair limp in my outstretched fingers. The chatter from our mutual group of friends, gathered to…

Fuck Your Gratitude

Tomorrow, before the turkey and the stuffing and the pecan pie and the noodles and the green beans and the cranberry sauce and the mashed potatoes, as you sit at the heavily-laden table with your loved ones and your sometimes-loved ones and weird Aunt Pat, when you start grasping at empty air in the hopes of coming up…

Advertisement