What We're Good At

What We’re Good At

It is morning, winter solstice, the darkest day of the year, and you are lying with your boyfriend on his bed. You are from New Orleans, but you are now in Pittsburgh, where you came for a job and, where you fell in love a few months ago. There is snow on the ground and...

Hometown

I’m sitting on the front porch of the house where I grew up, smoking a cigarette like a teenager. It’s dead quiet, cloudy and damp. I watch a single, fat blue jay screech madly at a yellow cat on the grass median strip in front of the house, flying back and forth from one tree...

The Water is Rising Pleas

Put a grown man on his roof, put in his hand a house painter’s brush and he’ll paint these words for the helicopters to see. His friend lays asleep next to him, a water bottle in his hand. A damp American flag, shaped like koi, curls against the wind. Open the door and the water...

Shoot the Drift

I’m on my knees in the dim basement, gripping a pistol in my right hand, index finger on the trigger guard. There are six shells in the clip, loaded by beer-clumsy fingers. I’m about to fire them into the man-shaped target 45 feet away. My elbows rest on the battered brown surface of a bar...

Party for Flor Pequeña

The mothers sit in plastic lawn chairs clinking together brown bottles of beer with limes squeezed into the tops, periodically pulling light green pieces of pulp from their lips. One of them turns on the radio that is lying in the grass next to a stack of magazines and a clay ashtray. The mothers start...

Driver Ants

The night we arrive in Uganda, my mother wakes to the sound of rain, not a storm, but a steady slap of drops against pane. She rolls over, her body weary from the plane and the children and the jetlag. Although we are at the top of a hill, windows flung open to catch a...

Hum

The car purrs along at 72, engine noise lost in the whisper of wind and the music. I love to hit the Volvo’s cruise control and turn up the stereo and roll along alone, checking the mirrors, the gauges, letting my thoughts go long and loose, knowing it’ll be hours on the road and that...

Spinning Down

On that perfect Caribbean afternoon, while my spouse napped, I had paddled out to a shallow coral area to snorkel. Alone. I knew better. The water was quiet, the coral gorgeous, so I swam beyond the shallow area for a better view. Without any warning, a wall of surf, instant and rogue, picked me up...

What My Supermarket Means to Me

Here I must avow with all truthfulness: Stop & Shop is the commercial correlative of the Homeric Sirens, the slick Dorian Gray of The New World Order, the buxom Playboy bunny of groceries. Every Stop & Shop opened on the Main Street of every Eastern seaboard suburb takes us one step closer to perpetual co-dependence,...