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unhelpable child

  As I lay in my beanbag recuperating from a total hysterectomy I am comparing this experience to the last time I went under general anesthesia in a hospital setting. I’m 50 now- one would think at this age I would have found reason to be put under the knife in my 20’s, 30’s or 40’s but luckily I’d escaped any serious illness or injury that would have required total sedation until this elective surgery, which was to remove all the bits and pieces to my fertility that were silently plotting to overtake me, and all the additional harmless cysts, growths and tumors that had collected over the decades who were crowding out more gainfully employed organs as well.  The best part about major surgery is the amnesia that comes with it. I can’t remember anything about this robotic laparoscopic procedure that removed masses larger than the organs to which they were attached. I was worried that if I didn’t have evidence it was all removed my body wouldn’t acknowledge the change so I i...
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Scott's Fuzzy Navel

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                                              Mr. Ligon wit h his original artwork in the background     It was orange, slightly pear-shaped, and effervescent, just like Scott. He had an angular drape of naturally bright orange hair brushing over his nose to his chin, and abruptly shaved tight on one side. He was the comic-book reading, model-painting, early video-game playing type, but don't mistake that for being inactive. We used to walk the rails, or at least I always wished he was walking the rails with me. I don't remember anymore.      He was a surrealist- he was always painting, sculpting, spilling paint on carpet, eating junk food and sewing old keys to his military jacket like jangly badges of repetitive nonsense. Very Dadist. He was witty and so weird but amiable and fun and child-lik...
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Indian Princess

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                                                                     The bodies of the women and children were lying in burning heaps among the wreckage of tipis  and scattered belongings, smoke trailing towards the electric blue sky like an offering to the gods.  Crackling skin sizzled and popped as the corpses blackened and began to turn into glowing tangles of  limbs and skulls. The aroma of cooked flesh had attracted the attention of a pack of coyotes now sitting  on the ridgeline, waiting for dusk for their chance to reap the benefits of human violence against  humans. At least the coyotes eat what they kill. Besides the sound of the burning bodies and the whistle of the wind in the grass, there was a horrible quiet sitting like a fog over the ...
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My Ghost Daughter

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    It occurred to me that I never wrote about Ruby. I never told her story in full because its such a sad one- I have spent 23 years feeling like I’ve carried the unspeakable around- protecting other people from knowing about the darker side of motherhood I was trapped in for a brief period of my life. Even though what happened is incredibly common among women of childbearing age, it’s still a fact of life that nobody wants to hear, so I kept my story buried below the pleasantries and superficialness of being around others who haven’t experienced something as nightmarish. Nobody wants to have me bring down the room with my bummer of a life story. Even if it’s the biggest event in my life that affected me in every way- even if I think about it every day, I don’t talk about her because of other people’s discomfort at hearing it. I hate the faux-pity and the way people treat me when I have confessed this burden.  And also, just telling someone some of the basic facts do...
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