Sheets
Jane raced around her apartment leaving chaos in her wake. She was like a whirling dervish of manic energy. She always worked herself into a state…
Search Results for: The Leaving
Rose-T(a)inted
You loved the rose-scented soap in my bathroom. You would rub it all over your body in the shower, and I would flinch, and think ‘is that even hygienic’?
Sunday Drive
It was the first beautiful Sunday of spring. You know that smell the air gets when the sun finally comes out? That’s what that day was. Winter had been grueling.
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.
Lipstick on a Cigarette
“It’s him – I’m sure of it.”
“Lizzie, I think your imagination is working overtime. It’s not him.”
Recovery
On a long inland lake shaped like a kidney bean, banked by low cliffs and surrounded by miles of boreal forest, brooded over by a solid grey sky, a lone canoe zigs and zags about the central waters…
The Plumber Takes a Son
Cooler by the lake was no longer heard on the evening news, and in the sunbaked hills that ringed town, the cherries—normally at market by now—clung to the trees like peas.
In the Family Room
Before they leave, his mother and sister and him, for what will turn out to be their last visit to the hospital, Jake, twelve and a half years old, sits in his father’s office in the basement.
Metaplasia and other poems
Some human cells adapt to toxic stress by physically becoming other cells. Smoke enough, and tall columns become flat lung lines. Turn 16, and girl lining becomes home-in-waiting. The word for this is metaplasia. It is supposed to be temporary.