by Laura Lentz | Jul 25, 2021 | BODIES BREAKING & HEALING
Years ago I lived in Huntington Beach with my musician boyfriend and his teenaged son. One weekend a month, to get a break from the teen drama, my boyfriend and I would escape to a hotel in Rosarito, Mexico, driving across the border on Friday night to hang with other...
by Laura Lentz | Jul 2, 2021 | BODIES BREAKING & HEALING, LOVE & SEXUALITY
I was dating a film producer, but I hardly knew him, though my ear burned from the two-hour phone call that night – my neck was pressing against my shoulder to cradle his life, the details traveling through satellites, from New York to Los Angeles, where I lay...
by Laura Lentz | Jul 1, 2021 | BODIES BREAKING & HEALING, LOVE & SEXUALITY
In the mid eighties, after my beloved boyfriend died, I became, for the first time in my life, sexually promiscuous. It was how I moved through my grief, by sleeping with men I didn’t know. Through nightclubs and Madonna and sex in parking lots, from England to...
by Laura Lentz | Mar 5, 2021 | BODIES BREAKING & HEALING, I AM THE HERO OF MY JOURNEY
When my heart stopped talking with my lungs I was informed I wasn’t a candidate for a heart lung transplant. I couldn’t ask why, the question stuck in my throat like a small bird. When I finally understand what the doctors were saying, I walked out of the hospital to...
by Laura Lentz | Mar 4, 2021 | BODIES BREAKING & HEALING, LOVE & SEXUALITY, OXYGEN: Poetry for Survival & Thriving
Today a friend of mine said she isn’t sure she believes any people in the U.S. have died from covid because she doesn’t know any of them. And this statement gave me pause, made me think about all of humanity, how if something doesn’t personally touch...
by Laura Lentz | Feb 20, 2021 | BODIES BREAKING & HEALING, OXYGEN: Poetry for Survival & Thriving
Five years ago, a man fell 25 feet out of a mango tree near my bedroom window and the sound of his body hitting the ground woke me. Followed by the kind of scream you never want to hear again. It rattled the stones in my driveway. Stories often don’t start out...
