Take a poem hold it to the light Don't let it burn too bright When it crackles and burns Lay it gently in its urn She was so not a poet. Because poetry these days hardly ever rhymed and her…

Take a poem and hold it to the light. She sent it to me, old school tucked in a flowered card some years ago. She probably went to the printing store, just to photocopy this poem, walking of course, and…

I searched for the poem that I remembered, oddly, vaguely, from my first year of teaching at HTHS. It was Nancy Ellis, in my senior English class, who wanted to use that poem for her required essay analysis. That class…

Nordsee was angry that day. It was August but her waters were not calm. They flashed steel grey. Mutti, Agatha, Ernst, Frau Bleich, Sarah and Hans stared at the horizon. Barely perceptible, they saw the British ships, lined up, straight…

From my mother, I learned to enjoy a good story. I remember my mother sitting next to me, cozy on the couch, a picture book on her lap. She read the words, I turned the pages. How I loved the…

…….as if there were any actually ordinary people, for one man’s trash is another's treasure; And what may seem ordinary to one person may seem quite extraordinary to another. And so it was with George and me. He and I…

At first we want to be ordinary people. I mean, when we’re young, when we want to fit in, be like everyone else, when we strive for the commonplace. Then we want to be different, individual, have a voice, stand…

My boundaries were thunderous, not to be missed. But they fell silent upon those who wanted not to hear them. Instead, they had questions. "It's too bad you couldn't spend the whole weekend with us. Did you have a lot…

“Mama” “Mutti” “Mama” “Mutti” Maaa-aaamaaaa” Mutti appeared in the doorway. “Girls. What is this shouting?” “Mutti. Sarah has taken my favorite dress. She won’t give it back.” “Sarah?” “Mama,” Sarah threw up her hands in alarm. Sarah called Mutti, Mama.…