My writer’s mind is a strange one, and I wonder if it’s true of others as well. Recently it was National Tug of War Day, and as I was trying to decide what to write, a friend, suggested that I... Read More

Last Breath “Where there was something suddenly isn’t” ~ Naomi Shihab Nye, Burning the Old Year One minute he was breathing the next minute he wasn’t. I saw him take his last breath, waiting for the next one that never... Read More

                I know you, little girl.  Yes, you.  Crooked teeth, crooked pigtails, cartwheels, training wheels, believing in the good of all people, believing that grown-ups will always do the right thing, that justice will always prevail, and true love will... Read More

Early October in Virginia, the concrete steps I sit on are probably a little cold. I am newly four in a dress my mother made. Ruffled sleeves, an empire waist, the white fabric I picked out is covered in big,... Read More

I usually got a pretty good stash of presents at Christmas time…you know, the usual toys and candy and toothbrushes and slippers. There was no reason to complain. I got dolls, of course, some that cried and said “Mama”, some... Read More

“and slow–spreading rising without grace into an indifferent sky no one would paint”  ~ Burning Oak, November, Joyce Carol Oats I have never witnessed an indifferent sky in Scotland. Scottish skies are either threatening impending doom or wearing a blue... Read More

The beach is nearly empty, except for one lone person sitting on the seawall. Clouds eclipse the sun she sought, yet, she walks forward, dropping her towel on the sand as she walks toward the water. Hesitant, she knows, knows... Read More

My memories of the man are very murky.  I do not remember much. He took me duck pin bowling when I was 7.  A thought that is so vague and so minor in the whole of my life that it... Read More

What you do is repetitious: paper goes in, lever is pushed down. Ka-chunk! and three holes appear on the edge of the paper. Over and over and over. You have served this special purpose for many years now the boring... Read More

We aren’t native to this land.
 It’s time to plant what is. It’s time to go home. from “Poem for a Daughter” by Lynn Melnick They weren’t native to this land. Their footsteps trod unfamiliar ground, disappeared behind them into... Read More