Frida Kahlo and My Left Leg is not a linear narrative, it circles back to loss--both Rapp Black and Kahlo are amputees--but the the loss here is not that simple.
If it’s true that for daughters growing up in a patriarchal culture, there is a feeling of having to choose between being empowered and being loved, I had chosen the loneliness of empowerment.
Mother wound: aisle five.
“Where did I put those damn acetaminophen pills?”
I yank the kitchen drawer so hard it comes off its rails and spills across the floor. Reza rushes in, horrified.
“Where did I put those damn acetaminophen pills?”
I yank the kitchen drawer so hard it comes off its rails and spills across the floor. Reza rushes in, horrified.
I have spent so long trying to gauge my boss’s taste, making recommendations and edits based on what I think she wants to see, that I have no idea what to tell people when they ask me what I’m hungry for.
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