Why I Write

I do it for the cat named Dorian Gray, his last moments filled with terror, his pupils dilated to the size of nickels as the vet administered the lethal shot.

I do it for the boy I loved in third grade, for the agonizing awkwardness of seventh, for the “Look how fat she is!” comment made in high school as I leaned over the water bubbler after gym class.

I do it because Adrienne Rich was right: two people together really is a miracle.

I do it because eyes, breath, memory. I do it to piss peopl...