Who I Am
I never knew how my mom would answer the question that I’d pose to her each morning when I’d call at 6:45. It was the same question every day…
Stories Poems Essays
Sunday Drive
It was the first beautiful Sunday of spring. You know that smell the air gets when the sun finally comes out? That’s what that day was. Winter had been grueling.
What I want the surgeon to know
What I want the surgeon to know is not included in the pre-op interview, where my life of pain has been reduced to color-by-number shades: a lavender 4 to get out of bed, an orange 7…
You Never Know, and More…
Stepping out of autumn-chilled water, sun still warming my bare skin, I glance back at the lake wondering, will this be my last swim of the season?
The Identified Patient
What brings you here? I ask. My name badge tugs at my thin floral blouse asking me the same question. My name has sorrow…
Here At Home
When my grandmother died, my mother reported that her last words were: “Is that all?” Although I was not present at her death, I doubted this.
Compendium
apprehension caused by awareness that a crucial detail has been left out | fear of putting into words things felt intuitively | fear that …
An Accident
It was an accident, he didn’t mean to, I forced him, I provoked, I should have kept my distance, should have shut up when told…
Danny’s Song
The pale-blue sky stretches to the horizon, broken up here and there by tendrils of white scudding along like wispy phantoms.