Three generations of women in the kitchen, baking pies, drinking coffee, and chatting.
A woman cleaning house. Woman: “Wash the dishes after dinner.” “Clean as you go while cooking.” “Put your water glass in the sink when you’re finished with it.” “Don’t leave your things in the middle of the floor.” “Fill the ice cube tray when it’s empty.” “Don’t eat in your room.” “Take your hair out […]
A woman tending her garden. Woman: Plants are so resilient. Pull off all their leaves. Forget to water them. What were brown stems, dead to the onlooking eye, Pull water from deep roots and bloom anew As long as the temperature is right. May I be fortified by such strength As I harvest them for […]
What appears at first glance to be a party. Upon closer observation, among those in attendance are actually depression, anxiety, insomnia, PTSD, menstrual difficulties, and, of course, the owner of the house. Since the audience has arrived in medias res, we don’t know which guest arrived first. Think of it like a murder mystery dinner […]
Read in the style of slam poetry. I joined Tindr to practice saying No. It’s a word women don’t say enough. No to thirsty cis male PUAs who show up on my feed of women. No to the poly woman who admits she wants a unicorn or a “piece on the side.” No to anyone […]
A woman stands in front of a closet filled with costume pieces. She looks at each piece, pulling some out and holding them against her body before shaking her head and returning them to their place. Finally inspired, she digs in the back of the closet and pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a […]
A woman sits at a desk stacked high with books. Her forehead is barely visible behind them. Someone peeks in the office looking for her, doesn’t see her, and leaves, thinking she’s out to lunch.
Instead of throwing or breaking things, a woman is channeling her anger into cleaning. While scrubbing floors, wiping counter tops, cleaning out the fridge, cleaning the toilet, she is also screaming at the top of her voice. When air runs out, she takes a breath and screams again. She cleans until the screaming has stopped. […]
A woman sits, center stage. She is surrounded by towers of stacked books, as far as the eye can see. One tome is open in her lap, and she reads and highlights. Occasionally she takes off her glasses to rub her eyes, or stands to stretch before returning to sit cross-legged, reading. Exhausted, she closes […]
What at first glance looks like a library. In front of the bookshelves are velvet ropes, and a sign stage right that says, “Do not touch.” It is actually a museum display. Guests come and go, taking pictures or just staring as if looking at paintings.