I dip pieces of me into the ink before writing to you. I struggle to peel off the layers, put them down on paper. Truth hangs off of me, heavy like stones strung on string and threaded through me. I am pulled and know these words you may never read before I am gone.…

  A: There is a bin inside the door. B: I told you I would get in. Full scholarship. Yes, at my brother’s place. His wife in the background talking, yes. A: Did you hear me? Stop throwing your seeds on the floor. B: Heading out for Chicago tomorrow and then to the coast for…

In the early morning, I wake up before the sun rises. I drive through fields along the ribbon highway, rubber humming against the asphalt as the sun lifts itself up over the horizon, climbing with long thin legs over trees and houses and farms. This land is not my home. I have been other places…

He was the first one I had kissed that made my knees wibble. New Year’s Eve together then a week. A beginning. I went to him, knowing if I died, no one would notice. He would have been the last. I was ready to go. I never told him that. Instead, I sat on the…

The idea is to build to filling at least one page a day… I am not quite there as far as quantity goes, and definitely not there as far as consistency goes, but I’m working on it. I have decided that I will post a little excerpt every few days this month,  maybe more frequently…

Keeping pages on a daily basis is something I got into the habit of doing a long while ago, but until recently have not made the effort.  Last month, I started back into doing it more regularly (although not every day). I thought I would share a few excerpts from my February pages – one…

  One of my stories, Pieces of Me was published today in a new literary journal for flash fiction called Slice of Life. I am just so happy. What a wonderful birthday gift (and my first published piece ever).   la

They come with the rising sun now: praying on their knees, crying at my feet, asking for forgiveness, for healing, for miracles. My feet are wet, still as the day folds and ends. Below, pine needles flattened in rounded divots, radiating outwards. The sunlight filters through the low branches and the whispering pine boughs. The…

Oh, So short breath These two weeks A reminder of how life unfolds And changes Humbling in a heartbeat I remember Two weeks two years Paralyzed until the moment Of reminding You breathed life Into my every day Two weeks And I have remembered how to breathe Again. ~

My head is throbbing. I shade my eyes from the glare of light. Two African violets in a white plastic margarine container sit beside the window. Bubble gum pink and indigo violet blossoms opening. I go to the window. Brushed steel lines the window glass, cold under my fingers. How long was I sleeping? I…