My cousin’s daughter Noni volunteered to learn sign language, ASL, when she was in sixth grade. She signed Silent Night while the classmates behind her sang. For some reason, that experience caught something in her, something that wanted to help…

(This follows on what you read yesterday.) “So it’s up to you,” Ardy said. “Yeah, but we have a strong case. Wade has more or less lied on his Manure Management Plan, and we have some new supervisors. Speaking of…

can't remember a thing. must've been a good nights sleep. we're sailing. many kids, boys, girls, back then, no genderfluidity consciousness from the binary community, so who knows about our group. but they were a cohesive rambunctious bunch. sailing out…

Often, the smallest contains the most. The tiniest part of the female genitalia contains so much, so very many nerve endings, that when it is successfully discovered….well…y’know…it does after all make the world go ‘round..Right? The nub of an argument…

My mother used to make a cow’s tongue for the High Holy Days. It was a delicacy, took a lot of time to cook and my mother made it with love for her family. Everyone oohed and aahed as they…

One thousand, nay, ten thousand pulsing, provocative, probing tongues salivate with the urge to taste the inner flesh of a woman and tarnish her reputation. I've been told this over and over by my mother, or, more precisely, by her…

(I may have given you a different version of Jess's opening. Here's the one I think I'm going to settle on.) “Why do you smell like grass?” Ardy said, as I slid into the seat next to her. “Nobody calls…

Oy. what is this hiss? this brew? this haha of whispers. shadows. ease. i feel such slick in this world. the ooze of slickness. can it be? are we turning? is this really a new generation of black magic? the…

The ridiculously chic restaurant buzzed with chirps, twitters and streams of gossipy bragging. Who could outbrag who? Money mattered with this crowd more than anything else and as Sarah sat with her $32 Cobb salad in front of her, she…

We lived in Reno, Nevada, my mother, my sister, me, and our radio. An old RCA Victor, housed in an ebony bakelite case, it gave out a lot of static. Whether a station broadcast from Truckee, Tonopah, Salt Lake City,…

My parents were their own mini-culture-vultures. The children of immigrants from Europe who settled, like mine did, in New York City where operaballettheateerpoe4tryreadings EVERYTHING was a nickle subway token away. They grew up going to the cheapest seats in the…

As a boy, Sanjo Yamamoto emigrated from Japan to the U.S. Like almost all Japanese Americans, he had nothing to do with the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor. But when the Federal government ordered everyone of Japanese descent to go…