by mary1988 | Jul 31, 2013 | 2013
I stand before Lake Michigan listening to the roar of waves crashing wildly against the sand. It has been days since she was calm, as if she knows of the recent recommendation made by the U.S. House of Representatives Subcommittee to slash the funding for the Great...
by mary1988 | Jul 3, 2013 | 2013
It was my grandmother, a woman known as “Mom,” who first taught me the meaning of family. A widower since her youngest twins were just shy of eleven, she asked her seven children to gather after World War II to celebrate the safe return of her sons. It became...
by mary1988 | May 20, 2013 | 2013
Standing in the bow of our sailboat, I stare at the murky waters of Lake Michigan. It has been weeks since torrential rains overwhelmed antiquated sewage systems, spilling billions of gallons of raw sewage into this lake; since swollen rivers and creeks flushed...
by mary1988 | Apr 9, 2013 | 2013
Two women walk slowly as the Arizona sun casts morning shadows across the desert. The elder woman tucks her hand tightly around the arm of the other. Perhaps for balance. Perhaps for intimacy. Perhaps both. They speak softly, heads together as if sharing their deepest...
by mary1988 | Mar 26, 2013 | 2013
Next week it will be five years since I lay on the floor of the frozen earth, teeth chattering, eyes wide, ears alert as I listened to icy winds whistle through the empty branches overhead. In the darkness my body trembled, partially because of April’s arctic air...
by mary1988 | Feb 23, 2013 | 2013
“Make yourself look large.” I glance at my 5’5” frame, a body shaped by the lingering longings of an anorexic adolescence. “Stand your ground. Do not run.” But I am a runner. It is what I do best. “Wave your arms. Shout. Throw rocks.” Throw rocks? If survival depends...
