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…
Stories Poems Essays
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.
Preemie
My daughter, now eighteen, is vibrant and healthy. Julia Rose has wild curly blonde hair that frames her face like a lion’s mane.
A Kind of Poetry in It
Each day he packs. Takes pictures off the walls, adds the dish that held his morning toast. The crumbs too. One slipper goes into his bag. One stays under the bed.
Lipstick on a Cigarette
“It’s him – I’m sure of it.”
“Lizzie, I think your imagination is working overtime. It’s not him.”
Where Courage Lives
I walk into my parents’ home to pick my mom up for a family gathering, and like most days over the past few weeks, palpable sorrow greets me at the door.