Today you would have been 85. And somehow though the years are moving forward without you, you still are here. Your name is mentioned at least once a day. A story remembered. A song turned up a little louder.I see her in the profile of my mother, I hear her in the voice of my… Continue reading I love you more.
She took me next door. There was a hose on the roof, and an unlocked door and the leftover wallpaper peeling. The grass was unkempt and the gate didn’t lock properly. Beyond, lay the Allegheny, moving fast towards the right of our eyeline-the docks pressed in towards one another in the same way you line… Continue reading Abandoned
Ron, I read this out loud to my students on Tuesday. You would have hated me doing that. I told them who you were, why you are so important to me, where we met and how. I said you were kind. And funny, and irritating. I said you loved Paris, and a great hot cocoa, and to laugh.I told them… Continue reading How love letters work to those who aren’t here
This year, I lost my ability to read novels the way I use to. I would devour words hungrily without stopping since...well, always. But 2019 wrang me out like a facecloth. It changed the way I move in the world. I moved further away from being able to sit still and give in to a… Continue reading In flux
"This is how hearts work." Kelly said, while I stared at the ceiling trying to hide the impromptu tears on a girls night. Hannah said it too.And Jasmine. And Jenyth. Through text. Through gif. Through voice messages.Patti shrugged slowly, sadly, while she said it.And Mackenzie looked steadily at me, laying the facts before me like… Continue reading Unloveable
Outside my window, in the tree across the street, a bundle of leaves sways unevenly in the December wind. Bunched together, shriveled and unhappily alone on the otherwise bare branch they are forgotten and victim to the elements. In happier days they were bright green, now they simply are gray-brown and dry. Hearts are not… Continue reading December query
I think of her way with wordsthe slow, steady shuffle of her gaitAnd feel here coming towards me the way a loved one would meet you half way down the path.I imagine she wears a well washed shirt, loose pantsand a pair of sandals."Mary" I ask "Does this get any easier?"She does not speak but… Continue reading On not being Mary Oliver
Mom and I walked out before dinner. Dad was finishing a meeting in the car. The bookstore we wandered through before heading out to the windy vastness was quiet; smelling like fire and full of summer reads, Christmas gifts, handmade cards ready to be written and sent.Outside there was a jasmine bush that smelled so… Continue reading The noticing