I do know that slowly, my own heart healed as patients and families invited me into the special intimacy of illness.
The roots of a dysfunctional family are deeper than unhealthy thinking; they are steel wire cords.
You were special, hard... but so are gems. You were a shard of glass embedded under my skin.
A decade and two years of prairie farming. His hands touching her limp silhouette; Laid in the comfort of her bed.
The girl laughed at her mother, a bigger laugh than was necessary and took another brownie. She was high.
Maryn concentrated on the feeling of his touch, the cool sensation that passed over her skin...
Bodies - One by One - which flail out the Rivers like Salmon, already caught by haunting Men.
Only an expanding heart . . . one that under-stands Those who ignore their history are doomed to repeat it.
Poor Dad was completely booked. So, I took it upon myself to become a professional, certified rock hunter...
A thousand ideas bouncing and bounding inside my head, knocking the smoke out of me, drumming up plans for the day after...
And yet, now, as I stood with him I found myself clawing for words, searching for something to say...
There’s always going to be ‘just too much’, if you can’t divorce yourself from your damn job.
I have a support group made up of parents who have lost a child to suicide. We all want to know WHY...
The numbing aftershocks as four farm families buried sons in closed caskets, automobile rubble robbing her last chance...
He washes under cold water and his sins clog the drain. Blocks of black bakhoor burn by the mirror filling the bathroom with the scent of the Kaaba.
The bus, like all buses in Hyderabad, smells like lemons… and people. Landlocked and sweltering, Hyderabadians have developed an affinity for citrus.
I was ten years old when I concluded my grandfather was illiterate. I approached him with one of my books one day...
You stand at edge of the hole that your mother dug for herself — not for you — but still. You peer down, at the stairs planted into the dirt wall...
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