A Safe Haven in Bed
I left Pittsburgh and Michael left Brooklyn for the dreamy, woodsy school we had only heard good things about. We did not realize that those things would be permitted only to me, with my white skin. For Michael, school was a constant terror. A few nights after we met, Michael abandoned his room for mine to escape his school-assigned roommate, who encouraged other students to shout racial slurs and pound on his dormitory door. That first night, we held each other tight, fearful of falling out of the twin bed we were forced to share. We haven’t slept apart since. — Eimile McKinnon
Most of Our Years Were Good Ones
Stuck in a box in a closet, the hat my ex-husband gave me was now just an extravagant thing owned by a non-extravagant woman. I asked furriers for help, but they said the hat could only be what it was. Not a headband. Not a collar. “Most women would kill for this,” said one. “Put it on and strut,” said another. But I didn’t want a trophy hat. I just wanted a small memento in the cold, reminding me that most of our years had been good ones, a time when he had warmed my winters and I had warmed his. — Marsha Jacobson
‘Mommy, I Am You’
On a lazy Sunday, Olivia disappears from the living room, later returning “dressed as Mommy.” She wears my red dress, green flats and crossbody bag. I don’t need to go upstairs to know what my bedroom looks like. I suppress a smile and get ready to tell her off. But then she gives me that look — that unmatched, adoring look — and says matter-of-factly, “Mommy, I am you.” I look at this loving little girl, who sees the version of me I can never be. Soon enough she will be grown up. Until then, let us enjoy this moment. — Sophia Nikoleishvili
Please Wear That Dress
Both young poets, we met on the set of “The United States of Poetry,” a documentary Bob Holman produced and I participated in. I recited my poems in a striped, blue-and-white dress. Twenty-five years later, Bob is widowed and I’m divorced. He contacts me online, asking me to meet and, please, to wear the dress. That dress is long-gone, but when we reunite I am reminded of the stripes in Bob’s blue eyes. We kiss in a taxi and I feel love. When we pull back, I see him seeing me in that dress of my youth. — Thylias Moss
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