Essays, Fiction, Poetry

Ironically, the shadows in a strand of DNA are

Every Sunday at four in the morning he picks her up

Wedged between to hulking strangers, miserably masked and nursing a torn meniscus,

Still intact in the little vault in my brain are

Every year around the Christmas season,

A couple of years ago I retired to Charlottesville

Sometimes I’ll spot an adorable baby

I’ve spent years searching for my birthmother, but rarely with directions of such military precision.

November 27, 2020—my first Black Friday purchase ever.

The first arrow attacked my psyche in 1977 during a fundraiser at Mr. Silks 3rd Base

A month to immerse myself in German life.

I didn’t expect a DNA test to change my life.

Fall had just set in, 1987. My family tree was shedding its leaves,

The glitzy mall I picked for our meeting spot hadn’t aged welled in the 20 years since my last visit.

A G.I. baby, I was born in Korea

I was born in the early morning hours of March 6, at New York Hospital on Sixty-Ninth Street.

In 2018, I took a DNA test for fun.

I shake the hands of the various deans. My two favorite

When I was 38, after both parents had died, I found out my mother wasn’t my birthmother.

It’s almost my birthday (sort of) and I’m turning 40, the same age my mother was when she had me (possibly).