Most notable about the layout were two-and-a-half inch margins, which provided ample space for obscene student art and sacrilegious editorializing. Someone had inked in a mid-calf skirt on the picture of Daniel Boone, extending the tail of his coon-skin hat over his shoulder and coiling it around one of two large-nipple tits.
Two days after my father’s funeral, I boarded a plane back to Atlanta. The ache on the right side of my abdomen had deepened. It felt like a sucking void. I marveled at how hot and thin my skin felt as I settled into my seat. Inside this fragile, transparent casing, I felt raw and exposed.
Selective Mutism in Autistic People Isn’t Called Selective Mutism—It’s Called a “Facet of Autism” and Doesn’t Get a Name
I want to write a poem on the back of the speeding ticket given to me Friday morning on my way to work. Though I wasn’t in a hurry and had nowhere to be until noon, the cop told me he had to be strict on this stretch of highway.
One lucky hand brought my fingers to the soft feather of old paper and leather. I found it there, a full sentence written out with some letters I’d never seen before, which I now know to be vowels, and sounds stacked in neat lines that created the full pronunciation of the words we speak aloud.