As a girl, I thought artists were single moms with boys who walked to their dance studios. Or artists practiced mysteriously in a back room with the best sunlight, but not one I got to visit. I thought retired men had workshops with wood and nails and power tools. I think I took a few […]
I am in 6th gradesitting on the auditorium stage.I am pulling off what Ihave practiced all weekfor Mr. Richards.Cindy Gregorio, chair 1,is sucking her reed.I am tapping my foot feverishlyto keep up with the polyrhythmic jazz tune.If you had been playing likethis the past 2 years,I could have really madesomething of you.Confused. Not a compliment.Not an […]
Confession has a bad reputation. It is pulled from suspects in the interview room. It is linked to crowded boxes at the back of the sanctuary. It is mocked when heard from writers who describe the body. I am told Sharon Olds’ confessions are pornographic–she wrote about the pope’s penis after all. I am told […]