Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
A story of grief, healing and hope. The essay traces a woman’s trip to her hometown after the death of her husband. The traditions that aid the process of grieving and a daughter’s realization about her mother’s resilience and watching her claim herself back. “She has a pacemaker; you cannot Read more
Dear Female Ancestors, I have decided to do something impossible. I want to communicate back through time and space the love I feel for each and every one of my female ancestors. Human limitations being what they are, of course, I am limited to writing this love letter in my Read more
You might find family members you don’t know exist: half-brothers, half–sisters living not too far away to visit. Might I find a better welcome than I had? I ask other family to be tested, but they shrug. They know who they are, don’t care about the dead, don’t want to Read more
Numbered and lettered genes listed in thousands of pages. Increased or decreased risk for this or that cancer, bone strength. Three genes say I’m likely lactose intolerant (I’m not) and prone to anxiety (I am). All my genes argue about Parkinson’s and heart disease and breast cancer, good and bad, Read more
Another conversation with my aunt, who tells me about her father’s trip who made his crossing to America when he was fifteen. Alone, he traveled from Canicatti, no money or education, for vague hope of a better life, sponsored by his sister, my grandmother, who arrived at Ellis Island, 1917. Read more
My grandparents are all from Sicily, brave, unschooled souls who came through Ellis Island in their twenties, married paisans who did the same. My DNA test tells me more, smears my ancestry across all of Southern Europe to include Spain, Portugal, France, Greece. The swirl bleeds to touch Turkey, Azerbaijan, Read more
An Italian heart is an artichoke,prickly-petaled, not inviting to eat. Every leaf ends in a little nail, a claw that forces you to navigate your way to tenderness, discover a taste that lingers, on your tongue and fingertips, embedded in the mushrooms, rice, chicken simmered with it. A platter of Read more
My godmother tells me stories of my mother’s mother, her aunt, called Pepina. In her forties, she climbed into a dumpster in the Bronx to scrounge for food, discovered a case of celery, but not before the dumpster was hooked up to be carted off, stopped by her screams. Grandma’s Read more