From Clear! Seven Theories of Space — lyric/meditative/personal essay; a collage of seven prose poems that touch at their edges, but only just. The essay appears in PASSAGES NORTH, Bonus Content, December 2014, Northern Michigan University’s MFA literary magazine. The essay was nominated for the Sundress Best of the Net Anthology 2014.
My father, too, spent his youth upside-down, pushing for a way out, probing for the way in. He learned his lazy eights and barrel rolls, his inside loops and spirals from the barnstormers whose flying circus he joined at fifteen, preferring ticket-taking to algebra, wing-walking to Latin—his brand of breaking free from Southern social restraint. His sights flitted from an early Taylorcraft—“That wing was held on by one bolt!”—to Pipers, then Cessnas. A quiet warrior, a charged curiosity shot out of him like a downed wire on a wet street.
As a child, I flew with him.
Read the essay at http://passagesnorth.com/2014/12/clear-seven-theories/
From LuLu’s Southern Beach House School for Wily Deceivers — narrative nonfiction; appeared in the spring 2013 issue of PRICK OF THE SPINDLE, the Kindle version. Nominated for Best of the Net Anthology 2013.
She was taken with a massive coronary on my seventh birthday. “I can’t breathe,” she’d said. It killed her, and more’s the pity. If I’d been older, I would’ve asked her why she ignored the rules that bound most folks from birth, if she saw herself excused on account of her charm, if she doubted the wages of sin.
Read the story at http://www.prickofthespindle.com/nonfiction/7.1/white/white.html
From Claws — narrative nonfiction; appeared in the December/January 2013 issue of MILK SUGAR JOURNAL:
I knew bears whose danger had been manufactured out. Goldilocks’s bear friends turned out to live in a toasty cottage of fitted furnishings. Bre’r Bear’s scoopy chin and lumbering gait suggested a harmless sidekick. After a few rough years of doing what I wanted, my own childhood Fiberfill bear with his neonate face deteriorated into a limbless closet-dweller. And in La Jolla, there was the plastic breakfast bear who wore an apron – Sweet Sue Honey, her label read – and obliged us by squirting honey out of her yellow flip-cap onto our multi-grain boule. No experience with domesticated bears would prepare me for the unbridled, the uncontrolled. I stuck a finger in the guidebook to mark my place, a Ute myth about Bear’s gumu, the fire-medicine that gave him his power.
Read the story at http://www.milksugarliterature.com/annehodgeswhite.html