words & art by shé

bookshelf

Tag: short personal essay

  • Respect Your Self

    Years ago, Mom heard of a restaurant she wanted to try, so we took a taxi after that day’s Jazz Fest. It was hot and humid in New Orleans, and we were wearing shorts and t-shirts, like the majority of concert-goers. Disapproval radiated from the owner-chef. There was a dress code. We didn’t meet it.…

  • I’ll Be Seeing You

    “They [feelings] are chaotic, sometimes painful, sometimes contradictory, but they come from deep within us. And we must key into those feelings and begin to extrapolate from them, examine them for new ways of understanding our experiences.” –Audre Lorde Beguiled by a garbage truck, Valiente—the leader of the Little Yellow Dog Gang—hurtled into traffic after it, barking insults. “No!”…

  • Letting in the Wind

    “Our feelings are our most genuine paths to knowledge.” —Audre Lorde. Change can be difficult. And, possible. Emotions are clues, perseverance necessary. Like so many, I struggle with inherited behaviors. In the middle of the night, after hours of hot air currents gusting through the cabin, I closed the hatches. The sound of whistling wind…

  • Reflection

    “Don’t want no short dick man.” The singer is adamant, and I am shocked by the explicit English words emanating from the Mazatlán bus speakers. Loudly. Repetitively. Blatantly stating what she does not want.  I am sitting next to another sailing woman, part of a group on our way to a store with maritime supplies…

  • Hauling Out

    I’ve been over the edge for a while, and wondering why. Did the math and realized that I left Kaua’i 15 months ago. Seems to be my limit, as I wrote a book about an earlier excursion, also 15 months. Crashed in Florida in 2018. Now I’ve crashed in Mazatlán. Too much time doing hard…

  • Stung

    Knee deep in the La Jolla Pacific, I feel a gentle slice on top of the second toe on my left foot. So gentle in fact that I’m surprised to see blood. Hunh. Wading out to get a better look, a half inch cut bleeds copiously. Foot above heart to slow the flow, I rest…

  • Ya Gotta Tell ’em

    Pakala. Lying on my board on a small day, waiting for set waves. A stand-up paddle boarder startles me, swiftly passing on my immediate left. He’s gone before I can say anything, and I bob in his wake. Another SUPer quickly paddles after him, yelling in pidgin, “No do that! Respect da surfers! Whatchu problem,…