An Ode (Apology) to My Lungs
Some catalyst would send my heart racing, my lungs suddenly too large for my rib cage. Mouth glued to a vaporizer…
Some catalyst would send my heart racing, my lungs suddenly too large for my rib cage. Mouth glued to a vaporizer…
The man lying on the hospital bed knows that he is dying. Beside him, the heart monitor stutters, falters, returns to a steady pace once more, each time the rhythm slower.
Shapes of Native Nonfiction delivers 27 lyric essays from 18 indigenous authors. The essays are grouped into four sections—technique, coiling, plaiting, and twining.
I long for that boring state of alignment that I can rely on sharing with those around me…
My friends detonate their truth bombs right in my face.
Not meant for fingers or your branding pain, my skin turned inward that day…
We’re pleased to announce the release of Issue 7 of the Dreamers Magazine. Get your copy now before we run out!
I used to teach.
I will always be a ‘daughter of’, though Mom and Dad are now gone. I will always be a wife and mother. I write too.
Congratulations to the winners of the 2019 Dreamers Flash Fiction and Nonfiction Contest. In a flash story, it’s important to make every word count…