Kate Lewis

I am on my knees on cheap astroturf. My knee pads cut into my skin. The stage lights flicker red. The audience watches, attention...

Start with butter. Preferably grass-fed, but do as you please. Leave it out so it’s room temperature: soft, yielding. It should offer...

“What childhood dream of yours was crushed?” He asks me. A deep question for a Monday night, but I’ll play ball. The air is humid with...

It’s Thursday, and I’ve had enough for one week. I protest by opening my Outlook calendar and blocking out two hours. I set my status to...