Atlas
The Narrator’s cane taps an uneven rhythm against ancient stone tiles as he hobbles through the library. There is almost no light to see by, but this does not slow his pace.
Writer’s Choice
In the Cypress Hills
Clouds under stars, and the stars move superior to the clouds. I open my eyes to the sound of horses, peer up from a slit in my blankets.
Doll
I was there to induce labor at 22 weeks’ gestation. I was there to end my pregnancy. To have a late-term abortion. Abortion. Jesus, the word stings, doesn’t it?
Fishing
Three of Jake’s buddies flew directly from Afghanistan into intensive rehab for amputees. Jake got dropped off back home with a medal…
Some Days Are Yellow
Some days are yellow, some are blue. I know by heart my two-year-old’s favorite Dr. Seuss book and the rhymes repeat in my mind…
Rose-T(a)inted
You loved the rose-scented soap in my bathroom. You would rub it all over your body in the shower, and I would flinch, and think ‘is that even hygienic’?
Breathing; Love These Lively Things
Run. Twirl. Swing. Dash out the door. Hop around squares. Kneel on the floor. Jump through two ropes that are turning. All as natural as a bird taking wing.
Gerry’s Ride
Gerry has a busted face. We could all see it coming, standing at the bottom of the hill, looking up at him hurtling down on his snow saucer.
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…