Stories Poems Essays

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As the video conference ended, quiet tears poured down her cheeks. She felt very small as if someone had taken her voice away.

I mourn for the words of nobodies who had vital lessons or exceptional stories to tell, but they died, and their words were never found.

The basement flooded and I watched the water fill the house to the rim. My books were ruined and I began to write my own.

I am hugging a tree, grounded with roots descending deep into the earth, blood as sap circulates and nourishes my body.

My first time alone on New Year’s Eve, future uncertain, past unresolved. The desire for time travel escapes me.

We heal and grow big hearts from the shatters of explosive heartaches.

There once was a boy named Max. Not just an ordinary boy, but a boy who could fly.

I buy admission to the tattered big top amidst a hundred or more whose skin is the color of my own.

As your elder’s trunk snapped, you turned and ran, like a terrified child unsure which way the sky was falling.