Hickory Smoked Turkey

Earlier today, my husband and I were driving home from the grocery store. I casually mentioned the "Me too" movement in response to the recent spotlight on the pervasiveness of sexual assault and harassment that women and men face. I commented on how brave the women were to step forward, that each time I saw a colleague, a friend, a schoolmate's status read "Me too," I felt red, angry, and proud of their ability to speak out.  That, for so long, just the idea of being vulnerable and allowing myself to cry in public over something beautiful, or something sad, made me feel anxious, even scared. "Will you make it your status? Will you say, 'Me too,'" my husband asked.  I said I didn't know. That it felt like too much. That it wasn't something I wasn't ready to admit. The act of writing those two words were on my mind all day today. Yes, it was me, too. I was fresh out of college, working at a crappy factory as a receptionist, and

On our way home from meeting friends in Tennessee, my husband H turned to me and said, "You are so brave to date a minority."  I looked at him and told him that I wasn't brave at all.  That in every way possible, I still benefit from white privilege, and that no matter how caring or great he thought I was, I could never fully understand what it's like to be an Asian-American living in the South. The night before, we were looking forward to taking a day trip to Gatlinburg to see friends who were there doing the same thing, taking the weekend to go somewhere new and explore a new town.  We met our friends at the Log Cabin Pancake House and had a normal breakfast.  We ate pancakes (big surprise), drank coffee, and caught up on life. H is a classmate with our friend so they talked about school while my friend's husband and I listened.  Our friends are both white, but the topic of racism was brought up pretty early on in the breakfast.  On our drive out to TN, we wen

It's been over a year since I've written here but I am excited to share my review of the new poetry book, Under the Kaufmann's Clock by Angele Ellis, photography by Rebecca Clever. Upon opening Under the Kaufmann’s Clock, Angele Ellis takes you to the streets of Pittsburgh where you immediately feel at home.   The narrator seamlessly interweaves the characters and relationships in her life with the city, and insists that you sit down with her at the local café to study the ground beneath.   To compliment the gritty and oftentimes stark moments of pain, are photographs by Rebecca Clever.   Clever captures the vulnerable and iconic elements of Pittsburgh without pretense or ego.   Community and relationship drive both the works of Ellis and Clever. Ellis walks us through the four seasons which take on a unique tone in the city.   The first poem, “Landscape,” from the “Spring” section of the book, vibrates with a sense of longing and beauty that can only be found w