Originally published in Quibble.
A downtown storefront for a discount crematorium always catches my eye when my car is stopped at a nearby traffic light. Cherry red, block-letter signs in each of its dozen windows has boldly advertised the “$975 Complete” cost of its premier package for years.

Originally published in HerStry.
I nominated my mother to share the news of my pregnancy with the rest of our family. I was confident my father and brother wouldn’t kill the messenger, but I knew for certain they would want to kill the message.

Originally published in Washington Square Review.
“Ain’t you hired anyone yet?” I get this question almost every time I talk with my father. “No, Dad, I haven’t had a chance to hire anyone yet,” I admit — again. We’re sitting across from each other in my parents’ kitchen, sharing an ashtray and a couple hours of free time.

Originally published by Thin Air Magazine.
There are a lot of things I can’t do because I’m a girl. I can’t be outside of the house after dark. I can’t walk home from school alone. I can’t ride my bike downtown. Most importantly, I can’t make decisions about what I can and can’t do, because girls don’t know what’s good for them.