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Ren Cedar Fuller

I Am The Dippy Bird

North American Review


 2022 Terry Tempest Williams Prize

for Creative Nonfiction: Finalist


          My water bottle is covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act. I could legally carry it through a TSA checkpoint, though I would not trust the blue-shirted agents to believe my laminated card.

          “I have Sjögren’s,” I could tell them, without expecting them to know the foreign-sounding word. If they took away my bottle, my mouth would start to blister and my throat would start to stick. Would the agents think my coughing was pretend?

This essay will be published in March

Naming My Father

Under the Sun


2022 Under the Sun

Summer Writing Contest: Winner


          My father could look at a loose metal bolt and say if it was a three-eighths or a five-sixteenths, but he could not name his four daughters unless we were lined up by height. He taught my sisters and me to eat corn of the cob  left to right, two even rows at a time, like little typewriters. He walked as though his head were tied to an overhead cable. When my mother asked my father if he remembered her friend, Marjorie, he asked, “The one with symmetrical moles?”

This essay will be published in May

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Checklist For a Sign-Making Party

Hippocampus Magazine

          “Can I have people over to make signs on Saturday?” Indigo called from the staircase. Saturday was the Seattle Women’s March of 2017.

          “Of course,” I said, putting down my laptop and rising from the daybed. “Does that mean you’re going without me and Dad?”

          “You can come,” they said. Indigo is nonbinary. That day, their head was shaved on one side with long wavy hair on the other, colored its natural brown.

          My high schooler turned away, willing to march but not chitchat with me.

 This essay will be published in March

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