I’ve run the job search gauntlet before and having a record makes it even more difficult to change employers. Staying at my current job, no matter my happiness level, means not having to start over in proving my value and capability. Of the things holding me back, foremost is my fear of the box.
I answer emails and nurse and write treatment goals and rock the baby and meet over the phone and jiggle a pacifier and enter data and bounce a vibrating chair with my feet and all the time I am buzzing, buzzing, buzzing inside.
Roses on My Table, and Nothing in the Fridge Time to eat, she says, and sheds the day, in the doorway, kicks off her practical shoes, and drapes herself over the table, narrow and tired, filled with hunger. Oh, the table yearns for more than meager roses, sweet as they are, and I…
Josh Poole is a student at Dabney S. Lancaster Community College and a food services worker at Washington and Lee University. He grew up outside a small town named Brownsburg, which is no larger than Lago from High Plains Drifter, and just as isolated. His photo features a quarter ton stegosaurus he made out of stumps, and a small cat named Elvis.
De noche todos los gatos son pardos. All cats are brown at night.
Again: Who is the other? Who is the enemy?
“My friends say I’m an activist but I don’t think I do enough things to be considered an activist. My storytelling is my resistance, it’s my defiance, it’s my self-care…”
I know that today was payday because your wallet bulges from the back pocket of your dusty Wal-Mart jeans. I know that your truck smells like sweat, like taco meat, like recently sprayed $5.99 musk for men because it was on sale. It’ll mask the smell of honest work, the smell of hunger, the smell of indiscretion.
“I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.” Frida Kahlo