Until We All Have Voices
I lost my voice at fifteen, when it faded into adolescent memory.
“Aa-E-e-e-I-i-O-U and sometimes Y-i-i-ih.”
Jars of Clay please, please, please,
EEEeeee-eee-eeJesus, there’s a needle in my neck!—
Meet Joe Black
I love you
snap, snap, snap
Sarah Stankorb is an Ohio-based writer who covers politics, religion and women’s issues. Her articles and essays have appeared in publications including The New York Times, The Washington Post, Slate, Salon, CNNMoney, Longreads, The American Prospect and GOOD Magazine. She's on Twitter @sarahstankorb.
Enter your email address to receive notifications for author Sarah Stankorb
Confirmation link sent to your email to add you to notification list for author Sarah Stankorb
More by this author
My parents are from the Rust Belt, words supposed to encapsulate the decay, the abandoned workplaces.
More in this series
I have been afraid most days of my life, which is what anxiety is, and the months of this pregnancy have been the most anxious of my life.
It felt as though I had been evicted from my own body, and it had been trashed in my absence. My resentment was as precise as any recipe.