 |
(1) Splashes of color interlock with the worldA safe haven, a bed of restMoving on to the unknownI wait silentlyI walkLock the moon onto the canvas an..
|
 |
I woke up toa loud “72” in my head, my heart beating out of my chest. I need to confirm how old Uncle Arnie was when he died. Was he 72, o..
|
 |
I live in a junkyard called home,littered with moldy memories,black,like the mold in our bathroom.Storage units explode, unlaunderedand taggedclothes ..
|
 |
A young womanpainted with sweet,delicate strokes.Brown hair cascadingjust below hercollar bone.Emerald eyes gazeinto a rectangularshard of glass.A kal..
|
 |
After Mary Oliver’s How I Go to The Woods
|
|
Ben groaned at the thought of being alone with Morgan, who never failed to cause arguments between him and Darlene. She was constantly horning in on p..
|
|
2019My mom opened her eyes to my deceased father lying on the couch beside her. Not as an apparition but in the flesh. My father had a cut-up T-shirt ..
|
|
I’m supposed to be working, but writing regularly again these last few weeks has ripped out the last care I had. I can fake it enough-complete w..
|
|
Her: If you could take back one thing you said to someone, what would it be and why?Me: I thought you had no regrets, so why are you asking about mine..
|
|
During Mark’s signing for his poetry book on grief, I overhear him say “I am a flawed human being like everyone else.” to a fan, his..
|
 first  prev 1
|
|
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This