1995: I’d wanted ballet lessons for as long as I could remember. In 1995, at the age of twelve, I got them.
It was my stepmom who spearheaded the whole thing. She took me to our local Capezio. I picked out my own pair of soft pink shoes, a black leotard, pale tights and a white [...]
I’ve been trying to figure out why I go to protests. Do I think they’re going to change anything? Unseat a president? Stop a war? Change a law?
Love Is (larger version here.)
There were over four thousand of us packed together in a hollow of the city, Boston skyscrapers framing our tiny antics. The City Hall [...]
When it’s not raining . . . read Young? From Issue 5 of A Public Space — “I Don’t Burn” by Kevin Young:
Dear Darkness — consider this
my last attempt
to reach you. My previous
few missives
having boomeranged back
unread, postmarks blurred
I’ve told this story before, but figured it warranted retelling, especially considering The Fray’s current call for submissions. Sex n’ death! Yeaaah!
* * *
I was seventeen years old, and we had just gone to the circus. Not some two-bit, tired-elephant circus either, but A Circus, hailing all the way from France with its haunting melodies [...]
We sat on chairs, couches, pillows, floors, we stood in lines against the stair railing — we watched CNN, NBC, and even Fox to see what they were saying about you. And, apropos for our generation, we happened to be watching The Daily Show when your projected victory was officially announced.
Things are looking up. (Larger [...]