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February 18, 2020
Things that are Funny on a Submarine But Not Really— The torpedo man named Grenadier who lives in South Carolina and thinks North Carolina is the North. The XO who hates my bucket hat I wear printed with cherries, but would rather me wear it than the other one I have that says, “Bigfoot is Real.”
February 4, 2020
Although family therapy consumed more time than basketball practice and did not improve my odds of attending my first-choice college, my sister’s suicide attempt had alarmed my parents, and they were taking every precaution against relapse.

     Horse, meet barn door. Bird, meet coop. I am trying to say: It was all so predictable.
January 28, 2020
I worked for commission in a sterile room with many clocks. The product did not glimmer in the fluorescence, but it was as if it did, and better, like they’d found a way to remove the obligatory negative space of glimmering when the object floated in darkness.
January 21, 2020
I have taken a blow to the head.

     Not one blow. Many blows. But one was worse than the others.

     And my larynx is not my own. My heart isn’t either. But I have a phantom larynx and a phantom heart.
January 14, 2020
We found the laptop in Cressey’s round room. It was black, thin, light as wood, and belonged to Dr. Marcus, the man who came on to me once, the one who smokes dope in the eaves, the philologist or psychologist. I can’t get these “terms” straight in my head anymore, what with these drugs they feed us. The afternoon pills, especially.
January 7, 2020
We turn the floodlights on the actors, extras in one of the world’s great short stories, surprising them mid-escapade, nocturnal animals caught playing dress up with our clothing, our fanciest possessions. Pearl choker on a possum, suit jacket on a raccoon. A skunk, a lynx, two tubby foxes moonlighting as twin nephews or as young men dating our daughters.
The 2018 Berlin Prize winner reads from her work
Monday, March 2, 2020
2:30 pm – 3:30 pm
Campus Center, Weis Cinema