I had a dozen copies of Flowers and Stars that are ever-so-slightly imperfect. I did a raffle. Winners were emailed 4:45PM PST on January 13th, 2020. Thanks for playing along! Continue reading giveaway: an imperfect dozen
When Rudy was home, there was music. Foot-stomping, hand-clapping, lounge-crooning, folk-lilting, country-dancing, all-type music. I don’t remember much more. I was so little, and he moved so fast. When Rudy was home, the grown ups moved fast too. They laughed and shook their heads at the same time. They nodded, sagely, warming. They were head-bopping, toe-tipping, finger-snapping, applauding. They sat really close together, closer than … Continue reading grief: uncle rudy
Freeze your love for safe-keeping.
Call it grief. Continue reading poem: spoon by spoon
I’m going for 30 posts anyway. I like to push myself.
At the doctor’s last week, he said I needed to stop pushing myself. That I need to do literally one thing at a time. Continue reading blogging: (b)link
A fiction based entirely on lots and lots of non-fiction experiences, moments, and conversations. It is the story I think about when I see someone take a selfie in a space where it doesn’t seem like the most appropriate of actions. We all engage with the world and ourselves differently. We’re all on a journey to figure it all out, or at least, to learn … Continue reading on the backs of selfies
I swallowed so many tears, my bones eroded and turned me into riverbed. Woman-made river, catching the sadness like it was meant to hold it. I swallowed so many tears, I built an ecosystem in my limbs. A saltwater stream, full of smooth river rocks and tiny legged things with flow of their own. My eyes became dammed, stopping the waters, holding them back. My eyes … Continue reading river-made woman
May 23, 2015 The water bottle is crinkling. Around it, conversation is soft, muted, somber– but there’s no volume control on plastic. I turn to look at the small hands holding it. He’s balanced in his mom’s arms, joyfully squeezing sounds out of the bottle. I smile at his mom, and then I make eye contact and smile at the little one. He grins, looks … Continue reading griefjoy
There was a pair of shoes at Nordstrom’s last week that Dave would have loved, but I didn’t buy them because I couldn’t remember his shoe size. And, obviously, also because dead men do not need shoes. Today he’s been gone for 1000 days. That’s a big number. Four digits, even. But it hardly seems like enough time to start forgetting things. I’m not a … Continue reading 1000 days
rarasaur 