I slide into a Presbyterian pew next to my once legal and loved mate. Cloistered within a small dying paper mill town situated as toe jam in Louisiana’s shaped boot. It’s Christmas Eve, 1991. The normal minimal church crowd in... Read More0
The ivory soap bar carved into an owl when I was in kindergarten sat yellowing by the guest bathroom sink, unused, until seven months before my mom’s passing. I have subsequently culled the stashed remains of all my early art,... Read More1