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Suzannah Gilman

I'm a Gloria Siren, a licensed attorney, and a mother of four adults. I own my own tools, drive a stick shift, am quite fond of my Old Country Roses china, can do the NY Times Crossword every day of the week, and am told I'm "high-maintenance." Whatever. I'm an experienced traveler who can navigate through airport security faster than George Clooney's character in "Up in the Air" (2009).

Caution: Bitch at Work

Glancing at the clock, I finally interrupted the men around the conference table, who had been jabbering when we had important issues on the agenda. The meeting was at my firm’s office, and I was responsible for running a productive meeting.

“Okay, there will be enough time for all of that later. Let’s get down to business,” I said.

The men all turned to me and glared. They hushed, but they exchanged looks with one another as if to say “What a bitch.”

Front Seat

by Suzannah Gilman   My mother’s mother lies on this bed. She sways her head and mumbles, eyes blank as buttons. I hold her hand, recite The Lord’s Prayer, which she taught […]

I call. You’re stone. / One day you’ll look and find I’m gone. – Poetry of the Pashtun Women

[The landays] lilt internally from word to word in a kind of two-line lullaby that belies the sharpness of their content, which is distinctive not only for its beauty, bawdiness, and wit, but also for the piercing ability to articulate a common truth about war, separation, homeland, grief, or love… the couplets express a collective fury, a lament, an earthy joke, a love of home, a longing for the end of separation, a call to arms, all of which frustrate any facile image of a Pashtun woman as nothing but a mute ghost beneath a blue burqa.