In my rewritten life, I finish the letter. The one I started and never sent …Read more
I often want to run away from my feelings. But when I hang out with them instead, a strange thing happens. This is a poem about not running away.Read more
“Mommy was in jail,” Etta casually announced, as she swung her feet on the exam table in the doctor’s office during her annual checkup. At eight years old, Etta is a tall girl, in the 95th percentile for height. And, apparently, somewhere in the bottom 5% for tact.Read more
when john died,
i blamed myself.
turns out my siblings
blamed themselves too.
how does that work