I Have Read the Books. So I Wrote One.
I called the ex Dad in the middle of arguments, for years. I have not spoken to my father in twenty-three years. This is why I wrote the book.
All Saints’ Day Round 2: The Dead Are Better Company
It says a lot when my son and I both prefer the dead to the living. Last year he came to the cemetery mostly by force. This year, no coercion needed, just flowers, a picnic, and a plan to keep La Llorona out of it.
Absence Makes the Hatred Grow Stronger
On the particular exhaustion of being back in your mother's hometown, and why some daughters don't miss the phone call.
The Ultimate Compliment
A neighbor's offhand compliment becomes proof I escaped my mother's script entirely. On being told you're nothing like the woman who raised you.
The Body of Evidence
Neighbors in Guatemala remember my mother as "El cuerpo." A force of nature. A woman they speak about in awe. I inherited her face. I'm trying to figure out if I also inherited the thing that broke her.
