On finding home

Eight. I've lived eight places in all. Apartments, houses, single rooms for rent, sublets. I tick them off on my hands by nicknames and years. Today someone asked for my zip code, and I recited one from childhood, shook my head, and tried again. That's still Detroit, she said. That's where I'm from. Or used… Continue reading On finding home

cooking · self-care · solitude

On starting from scratch

Making soup is one of the ways I find stillness these days. The kitchen is quiet and the night stretches out and yawns. There used to be someone here; my brain flickers, a light coming on in an old house I don't want to visit. Instead, I reach for garlic, its paper cellophane skin slipping… Continue reading On starting from scratch