“What happens, Mommy, when you change the constellations?”

“They get all fucked-up, Honey,” she says, using the word my teachers hate. “They get all fucked-up.”

We’re at the beach, and the sky is grey and the rocks are grey and Mommy’s feet are sore. She’s sitting…

I’ve been thinking a lot about the summer of 2015, when I was hitchhiking around an innocent America. What do I mean by innocent? I mean the pain of conservatives hadn’t yet been exploited by Trump. I’ve been thinking about exploitation, thinking about how injustice first ripens into the…

I was listening to an excellent spoke word poem the other…