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  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I saw you just 12 hours ago. The light outside was fading as I held your hand, feeling the veins pulse timidly, as though they were afraid to declare your survival as permanent. It was almost eight. We had a polite conversation, pretending that we could not hear the frantic countdown of your las...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You were tranquil. The baby that never cried, I could imagine my mother saying, as she folded away the lopsided things she knit for you. A blessing I could see it in the nurses’ eyes as they held you, dead-quiet. They observed the skin that spread from my naked index finger to the...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Oh, the days of Gloria. She licked the cream-colored crown moldings and announced that they tasted pink. That sure-footed stumbler weaving precariously between the garden gates scooped into the rusty cavern of a veteran wheelbarrow. Her laughter makes the timid fingers of baby's breath qua...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I sought your heart in the darkness and finding nothing was content with your lips, your hands hushed phone calls in the young hours of morning. You turned from friend to lover to well, what are we now? Try to keep pace as I watch the scars form. They spread across your heart like l...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Pierce was the one who in the end broke my mother's bowl. It once sat high above the cold granite countertops in her kitchen, directly from the antique dealer. The artist's stamp on the bottom was visible for a brief second as my mother's birdlike arms placed it atop her custom walnut cab...

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