Little Losses
They told me grief comes in waves. I expected an ebb and flow, not placid waters interrupted by a tsunami. Every once in a while, I forget about the losses. I forget that I’m no longer pregnant, or that I can’t call my parents’ landline to speak with my dad. Read more
the mother in me
“What time is it?” His voice makes me scratch at my skin, my filthy nails leaving trails like I’m trying to scrape him off me. I can almost feel his breath on my neck—warm, invasive—his tongue flicking in his mouth as if it’s mine, pressing against my teeth. “What difference Read more
WHERE SHE HAS FALLEN
Supine, she sprawls where she has fallen, not one bird calls where she has fallen. Dead grass covers her form like a shroud, an endless pall where she has fallen. The lightning-struck tree, stiff with black grief, still standing tall where she has fallen. Where is the play of green Read more
Smoke Break
Patrons had been bustling all this Sunday morning and Danny was made to wait for his smoke break. There were elderly people who’d known him as a kid and children with their parents. Old Mister rested on the stool behind the cash register, a hefty man everyone called Old Mister Read more
LIKE WOMEN WAVING GOOD-BYE
Trees in the wilderness, like women waving good-bye. Wind in folds of her dress, like women waving good-bye. Fire in a pile of leaves that lift one by one, like hands that cannot rest, like women waving good-bye. Pregnant sisters bleed like the leaves of fall lie against hospital walls Read more
Little Boys Next Door
like a basketball so high with every toss like a doll they throw (but scorn to hold or cuddle) up goes the baby girl laughing first then screaming up up again almost to the ceiling they feel their strength the power of deciding whether to play the hero to find Read more