In my earliest memories of Mother's Day, my father would buy corsages for my mother and two sisters to wear to church that day. Red for my sisters, and white for Mama. I didn't get a red one to wear…
View writing(Note: Did you get my first 2 reviews? For some reason they showed up on my dashboard as Pending Review. I resent. Hopefully, they went through this time.) (A continuation of yesterday's scene.) Jake Eddie’s pickup pulled into the handicap…
View writingI became a close friend of Nicole's shortly after each of us graduated from college, as we were making our ways into the world. She seemed to have everything a person needs to get through life: privilege, outstanding Seven Sisters…
View writingToday, Lydia feels like a devil in a scratchy wool skirt and white blouse. Her hair is stuck to her face, with wisps pasted to the moisture that beads her top lip and drips down the back of her neck.…
View writingAnger. I'm angry. How could I have fallen? Why wasn't I looking down as I usually do when I navigate the city sidewalks on foot? How could I have been so stupid? I'm angry at the city of San Francisco…
View writingI am right there: at the matrix. I need – well, it’s difficult to complete that sentence. I need so much. I need my daughter, my son (did they exist?) so I, too, can contribute to the casual anecdotes that…
View writingA seed is planted. With a gentle touch the hard shell is pressed into moist soil. Sun warms. Rain releases nutrients. The shell softens. Eyes may not see the first stem break through the heart of earth but a chest…
View writing“Enough already” the cop said close to my ear as his large hands clutched my wrist and snapped the handcuffs on me. “I didn’t do anything,” I said to the cop. “Sure. Let’s get you in the car, so you…
View writing“No, it wouldn’t make much of a difference.” Gray wooly couch. Hilda’s rug she brought from home. Her giant slippers that looked like upside down bowls. Time was a construct. Cuts were a construct. Takes were just paint, and we…
View writing(Note: I'm using this morning writing to work on various characters for my novel in progress.) Rain pattered on the roof of the Prius. One of those cold spring rains that still have the bite of winter in them. I…
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