essays by shé

Tag: truth

  • Muertos

    They are holding hands, leaning back and spinning. Their twirling (or maybe their laughter?) generates light. Around and round, faster and faster, gazing at each other, eyes on the prize: mother and son. There is only Love. It was time: five months after she left her body. She began the process on Johnny’s birthday, May…

  • Memory Problems

    My father seems to have memory problems. He forgets that his only daughter loves him and means him no harm. And so he writes venomous missives. The first time this happened, I’d just published “Free Love Ain’t” in a national anthology of essays by folks who’d survived so-called counterculture parents. Back then I read and…

  • Struggling with Wait

    I have been heavier. I have been lighter. It rarely has anything to do with calories. Mostly it has to do with happiness. When I set my needs and wants aside – for work, family, friends – I suffer. Self-loathing sets in, the mind attacks the body: you’re fat. You’re over-weight. But in fact I’m…

  • Mary Patricia Kathleen

    “I love you, gorgeous girl!” says Mom. I am between sleeping and waking, delighted to hear her voice. She sounds like she did in her thirties: vibrant, happy, raring to go. Her energy warms my heart, causing an hours-long smile. Unbeknownst to me, her body is in the New Orleans VA hospital: COVID, pneumonia, collapsed…

  • Essay #36: patagonia

    My father is going to Patagonia tomorrow, to build a bridge. Just like old times. When I was a kid, he worked for the federal Bureau of Public Roads, building bridges and roads in the mountains. I remember riding shotgun in a yellow-orange government truck, somewhere in California or Oregon or Washington. I remember evergreens…

  • Essay #32: masks

    Last October, I drove to Arcata, where my brother was living, to rendezvous with my father. I hadn’t seen him in 11 years. While I was gone, someone burgled my loft. They dumped out a duffel bag and filled it with art supplies, jewelry findings, and a wooden sewing box containing a rose-gold bracelet my…

  • Essay #6: the happiness code

    I’ve been editing a website for a non-profit. Uploading text has been simple enough, but suddenly I was unable to change photos. I followed directions, to the letter. The new photo appeared in the draft, but when I updated and uploaded the page — no photo. I tried again and again. Maybe I didn’t click…