Rome was good. Sat ninety in the summers. Leaned on his off speed when the weather got cold. Postseason, most of the district had seen him by then, we took advantage of teams whose scouts said he was
I played left field for the Tularosa Middle School Tarantulas girl’s team. I was long and brittle, like a cactus spine. Or a splinter. And I was afraid of the baseball. I batted .083 that summer and
i'm in love with the thousand yard stare
deeply towards the worn fold
of the catcher's glove
Autumn was the season of fire. Boys and houses burned pure white holes into the night, and I self-immolated in every room but the little one I shared with you.
The bartender, we start sleeping together because he likes that I know all about the tragedy of his Seattle Mariners.
One night I wait for him to get off work with two double vodka sodas at the
In 1964, I was a college freshman. Someone, I don’t pretend to know who, researched offensive statistics for all Little Leaguers in the New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut area. The unknown
I pause from scraping frost
off the car, and watch my gray
emissions wisp away
into the chill. I miss strict
seasons, and knowing
what to wear. Last week, it was 72.
When will summer
Just that instant
when thinking becomes
too much
Two things are clear to Ava: It’s time to end things with Nico, and Thad Worley might not make it out of the first inning.
He’s next to her in the left field bleachers chewing on a hang nail and
Almost every day, the sitcom actor goes on Instagram to tell his five million followers what he knows about race, class, and - more often than not, women.
Drive-in movie theater, Merrillville, Indiana, 1989
Field of Dreams on a screen bigger than every building in Merrillville,
my brother and I eating chocolate sundaes from mini Dairy Queen
1. There is a protective radius of ten feet on all sides of me.
2. I only know the name of one person in this room.
3. My body hair was groomed solely for this moment.
When I'm in Philly, I miss my desk... But when I'm in Ann Arbor, I miss our bed.
You are standing on an indifferent platform in Preston Station and a little black spaniel is making unbreaking eye-contact with you as he pisses on your leg.
Aileen Weintraub is one of those incredibly funny writers who also has that superpower to make you cry against your will. You may have read her pieces about pregnancy, motherhood, aging, and more –
On the first day of my streaming career, I asked Gabe to come over to adjust the lighting design of my “set.”
Maybe you didn’t recognize me, me with longer hair, growing tits, a new name.
She was going up to Poughkeepsie to see a girl she had met on the internet who, promisingly, shared her passion for Gary Larson comics.
Two men smoking cigarettes on Bleecker could mean anything
to each other.
Fifteen years before my autism diagnosis - the year I chopped off all my hair with jagged scissors - I hid a not inconsequential baggie of hash in my dorm room closet. I was, as always, trying to
When you died in March, five months before I bought my first plant, I learned what sobbing is.
All the time I don’t know what I’ve lost.
She opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it, starts to laugh. ‘I guess we're both freaks.’
