The Monthly Theme Essays are a collection of essays written each month on a predetermined theme. These essays are always published during the last week of the month. To submit a Monthly Theme Essay check out our upcoming themes.
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My great-grandmother died before I was born. It never occurred to me as a child that she might be someone of note. But Mom knew she mattered, so a few years before I became a woman, and long before two small girls called me mother, she introduced her to me by telling a simple story.
Read MoreShe grabbed the goose by the beak, straddled it between her thighs, plucked the feathers from its neck, slit it, bled it into quietude, and continued to pluck the rest of the feathers. That night we had czernina and drumsticks.
Read MoreSummer bore down hard, distorting the asphalt along with my mood. I damned the weather as it must’ve been close to one hundred degrees. My dogs, trying to cool themselves, unfurled their pink tongues and panted. “Almost home,” I said to them. I kneeled down under the shade of a tall flowering tree to stroke their fur, and noticed a familiar looking leaf on the sidewalk.
Read MoreA few years ago, I broke the top on my flour canister. Today, I compounded the error while making bread, having split the sugar canister’s lid as well. This may seem trivial, but the containers are pewter-colored metal, large enough to hold more than regular-sized containers—the kind you can’t run to Home Goods or Belk and replace. More importantly, they belonged to my grandmother.
Read MoreI met my grandmother Angelay but I didn’t really know her. Over the years, I’ve collected stories about her, stories told by others and stories I tell myself. But I’m not sure what is true and what isn’t. Only she could answer those questions, and she’s long gone. My mother tells me that Angelay had psychic abilities. When she left home to live abroad, Angelay reassured my mother, “You’ll always know when I need you.”
Read MoreI’m a mother. And yet, I’m not.
My dream, years in the making, has and yet hasn’t come true. And even if I could ignore this and live as if my life is the way I want it to be, there are daily reminders everywhere I go that women the world over keep getting my dream for themselves while I am still left grasping for it.
Read MoreYour hands are shaking. When you squint at the street sign, your vision blurs. You stop in front of a subway station, interrupting the current of pedestrians moving downstream into the underground. They divide around you with disgruntled murmurs. So many people—too many. You are biting your lip to keep your anxiety choked down. You tell yourself that instead of being caught in the swell of the subway, you will walk fifty-eight blocks and four avenues.
Read MoreI encountered pornography for the first time in sixth grade. The video, left up on my friend’s laptop, kissed my chin and invited me to observe. I wasn’t horrified. I didn’t mind that the actors were naked. I somehow expected it. But an eerie disquiet settled in my stomach, heavier each moment I waited for the woman to realize someone was watching her.
Read MoreI had to wait until I was fifty-seven to learn that something quite profound happens when we are given the opportunity to care for our own dead, to bury them in a way that is personal and meaningful and feels like a true labor of love.
Read MoreI answered no to all the key questions. No implants, no tattoos, no permanent makeup, no prosthetic knees, hips, or shoulders, no aneurysm clips. They told me it was okay to keep my underwire bra on, and the snap and zipper on my pants didn’t present a problem.
Read MoreNot so long ago, the woman who was going to marry my brother called me out of the blue. It was close to the anniversary of the day her fiancé, my brother, dropped dead from nothing. Nothing we could explain then but maybe a genetic flaw, maybe his heart, or maybe an aneurism that killed our father when we were young. There was nothing to explain the suddenness. It was three months before the wedding. The invitations were freshly printed and waiting.
Read MoreFor the last decade, I have been preparing myself for the BIG death; the earth-shattering, life-changing, my world will never be the same, death. The type of event that hits so quickly, felt so deeply, your entire body goes into auto-drive. I’ve often wondered, in my own dramatic way, what would I do if I heard life-shattering news? Would I fall to my knees? Would I go into a state of shock and be unable to form words or thoughts. Or would I grow cold and distant from those I loved?
Read MoreDear Younger Connie,
I’m sorry I tried to starve you.
I tried to starve you by going on diets. “Going on” sounds like there’s actually an itinerary and destination, but with diets, the finish line slides out of reach. I took you to weigh-ins. I made you write down every piece of food you ate. I made you go to bed hungry.
Read MoreDear child,
It was never your fault.
When your mom left, you were a forgotten consequence, but never the cause. She chose drugs because of her own weakness, not your self-described inadequacies. You were a toddler who lived every moment with a full heart and a pocket full of hope, but she was too far gone to bask in that light.
Read MoreDear Scarlett,
I want to tell you not to go to the bar that night. I want to say, “Just stay in with a good book.” But I know you. If I tell you, you'll only be more determined to do it. So get dolled up, go to the bar, listen to the band, and dance your heart out. But listen. Listen when your best friend tells you to stay away from him (they work together and there have been rumors).
Read MoreDear Lisa,
We regret to inform you that you did not end up living in the South of France nor were you accepted to Harvard Law School. We further apologize that you never became the smartest most beautiful girl in the world. We are sorry you never went to the Olympics in skiing and never became a pro tennis player. You never married your soul mate. You never got super rich.
Read MoreDear Zebib,
I hope this letter makes sense. It is from the future, from you at thirty, from a land far far away. 2019 sounds impossible even to my ears, like spaceships and dystopia. Did the letter get warped in time travel? Maybe the words ran together, like ink on parchment, held out in rain.
Read MoreDearest Little Girl,
I didn’t mean to forget you, to push you away for thirty years. I thought I knew you, but it turns out I created memories from photos and stories. I thought you were the happy, smiling child everyone said you were.
Read MoreDear Tiffany,
I wish I could warn you. You don’t have to fear them. They are made of flesh and bone, just like you. They can’t control everything, even though they try so hard you believe it. One day you will realize they are fragile. You are strong. You can snap them into pieces with your words. You will bite your tongue. You will keep your distance.
Read MoreDear Younger Self,
How could you have known? You came naked into a world that didn’t want you. Born on a kitchen table because your mother didn’t have the money for a hospital. Like everything else in your life, you’ve pretended this is cool when it’s actually pathetic. You have to admit it makes for an interesting story.
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