Attic

She confuses love with abuse so easily. But why are they synonymous? She saw her first thesaurus in the attic, Just before he unbuckled his pants And closed the shades. "She's mature for her age," they tell her mother. She can slice her own apples and pour her own cereal, But she's only five years... Continue Reading →

Letters are Coming

I'm working on a letter series where in which I'll write to people of the past, present and future. The first one will be up on Monday at noon EST. Happy Friday. x

Babes: A Letter to Daddy

Dear Daddy, Happy Birthday. Is it strange that I still haven't processed your death as a death, but rather as a long vacation? And I know that isn't the best thing to do, because it implies that I'll see you again. But perhaps I will. In this life and maybe the next I will see... Continue Reading →

Mr. Monday: My First Publication

I could hear the kernels popping in the microwave as the smell of butter filled Clarissa’s kitchen. I stared at the numbers as they counted down. The movie played loudly and I peered around the refrigerator to see what was going on. Then I noticed a photograph, framed in wood on Clarissa’s mantel, it was... Continue Reading →

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