Dead Woman by Sarah Certa

It’s mid-October and I keep referring to myself as a dead woman. Of course I am not really dead but it’s easier to call myself dead than what I really mean. Stop playing the victim card. I keep hearing that voice. His voice. And his voice. As if I want to be known for having been abused. As if I asked for it and am now basking in this special victim status, the alleged benefits of which I am still trying to figure out.

Health Center Chronicles: Our Scattered Medical Histories

“You’ll just want to call your Mom to find out where you had that vaccine administered,” said the curt woman from the Northern Michigan University Health Center over the phone this afternoon. I will not be allowed to register for…

Book Review: What Is A Domicile by Joanna Penn Cooper

Cooper’s work is inclusive – delightfully unpretentious its tactile philosophy. This is what draws readers into her work. She allows us to observe beauty in the mundane, grace in the hectic. A crime show becomes the impetus for a discussion of pregnancy and changing life. “Look at all the wonder,” she says. Her mind wanders into the sublime, bringing us with her. “What if we could step into each other’s lives?” In whatever small way, Cooper’s poetry allows us to do just that.

[Teen Voices] Defining Adulthood

Maybe I don’t know what adulthood is. I’ve only been seventeen for three days. Yesterday someone told me women’s brains are fully developed by twenty-five. I asked LunaLuna staff how they defined adulthood; here are some of their definitions.