Author: T.S.
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Are you there, God? It’s me, Taylor.
I had pictured God and Santa Claus side-by-side on a celestial cloud watching my every move, reading my every thought, and making little tic marks beside my name each time I did something wrong—a running tally of my badness which would decide my short-term fate at Christmas and the long-term fate of my soul.
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Baby, I’m back
Confession: At age five, I was kicked out of ballet.
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Everything we bought at the grocery store today
Memorial Day, 2023. may melted like a sliver of ice under beneath my tongue / the crepe myrtles are blooming / already, it is hot
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Tulips 01
I am finding strength in softening. I am putting together what it means to love myself properly.
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Chez nous, à ce moment
Barely visible: the miniature salt and pepper shakers A. and I lifted from the room service breakfast cart the morning of our wedding; souvenir (to remember).
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Thankful For: Mom’s Old Shears
I VERY BRAVELY (READ: SHAKING, TERRIFIED) CUT MYSELF A NEW SET OF BANGS Excerpt from my techo, 11/24/22
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August’s Objets D’art
The Leg, the Frog and the Highball Glasses With my precious sister, K., visiting and a pocketful of spending money from my recent bridal shower, I had all the justification I needed this month to hit the antique stores of Dallas and add a few purely fun pieces to my collection of belongings. The Leg…
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Tanukichan: Sundays
Summer So Far The unbroken string of triple-digit temperatures in Texas this summer has had me longing for music better matched to the delirious heat: Tanukichan’s Sundays has turned out to be just that. This album is chock-full of all the crunchy, fuzzy, shoe-gazey guitar sounds you could ever want, but what makes it all…
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Women Painting Women
Highlights from The Modern Among my very favorite kinds of places to spend time (and money) are restaurants and Modern art museums, so when A. told me his dad wanted us to meet at the Café Modern in Ft. Worth for Father’s Day brunch, I was happy to come along. Better than the meal itself…
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June, Texas
June, Texas When I lie back and float My ears below the closed surface of the water, I hear no cicadas No high-frequency ringing, No arthropodic singing Repeating through the elms Just the ceaseless sound of so much water Siphoned off by the square, tiled mouths of the swimming pool’s drains