Donald and I were wed in a garden. There were wood chairs and a band playing Louis Armstrong and an unfathomable heat.  There were black tuxedoes and green vests and pink dresses.  There was my father, laying down wood planks to →MORE...

Donald and I are both locals.  He grew up fifteen minutes away, in this house and that house and the other house over there.  His earliest memory is standing on the front lawn a stone’s throw from here, wearing little cowboy →MORE...

You thought I was asleep. My eyes were closed and you thought I was asleep.  You swept the hair away from my face.  You leaned in and kissed my cheek. You told me that you love me immensely and that I →MORE...

When I met Donald, he was sitting down at a table.  He was all legs and arms and long fingers.  He was stirring a coffee.  Ugh, I thought.  I hate coffee.  I wore a dress that day.  “That’s what I remember,” →MORE...

Donald proposed to me on a Friday evening.  We were living together in a teensy weensy apartment in a very bad part of town.  I am not exaggerating the size of the apartment, by the way.  I’ll bet you couldn’t stuff →MORE...