Every word Deonna writes is plush, tender, delicious, weighty. This is a gorgeous essay. By that time, my marriage was floundering in a gap shaped by three years of living in two different spheres of the world: my husband was in Sudan managing the split of one country into two. I lived in a posh part of a small Southern city managing the stepchildren. In this absence, I had published my first book and coddled my demons with less frequency. Writing meant that I could finally taste my voice, and it traveled down my throat like exquisite cardamom-spiced coffee. The parched nature of my soul, and my subsequent hunger, felt frightening.
Posted on: Fri, 16 Jan 2015 18:54:13 +0000