Can the tangible capture the ephemeral? Do the things we love keep our memories? Can a treasured object give a fleeting dream a fragment of immortality? Do the things we love hold our devotion to those we leave behind? Will my pen retain my ardor for words after I’m gone? Does this chair remember my…
“Rocks ahead!” List then keel I tie myself to the wheel “The rocks—we must avoid the rocks!” Distractions: to do lists, grocery lists, lists of lists My ill-crafted vessel lists. Dinner menus, family schedules, work deadlines. I check. I tick. Appointments, Board Meetings, promises on which to deliver My ill crafted vessel keels I check….
Today my fingers cooperate if only there were more thoughts for my digits to dig down into. “Three thoughts, one mouth,” I say to buy a few seconds, to organize the bursting box cars into a forward moving train. Full stop. I am at a railroad crossing. Waiting for others to pass. Waiting. I scroll…
“I don’t think that you enjoy anything until you’re good at it,” says one of my oldest friends, trying to entice me to move out of the children’s ski area. It is the spring of 2000, that sweet spot in the aughts. The fears about the turn of the new century have fizzled and September…
I’m sorry I’ve aged. That gravity has taken its toll on my tits. That my metabolism has slowed and my discipline waned. I’m sorry that my brow furrows more and that my laugh lines appear regardless of my humor. I’m sorry that my standards grow higher as my ass lowers. I’m sorry that you think…
The lariat bound them together. Literally while she strangled him. And then figuratively for the rest of her life – which was spent in the family’s attic where she would knot and unknot the very same rope that had robbed her of the title she coveted most: mother.
The shoes I will wear tomorrow are to fancy for the day. But, they will shine because my daughter will wear a matching pair. Proudly. Lovingly. Voluntarily. And we will each click our heels while we are apart And know that our souls are bonded.
I just called To talk about my teeth Again. The teeth that you bequeathed me The teeth with which I gnash upon memories Of you. The teeth that are aging faster than I hope The teeth that bear the damnation of your DNA The teeth, for which I pay, pay and pay. Your legacy, my…
In the Spring of 2014, I entered a short story, The Book of Love: Chapter Two, into a contest. It – the story below – won third place in The Friends of Palisades Library Contest. She closed the book, placed it on the table, and sat staring at nothing in particular. Finally, she willed herself…
“Hello, mother, it’s me.” “Hello, how are you?” “Well. You?” “Good.” Then it begins. The recitation of mundane minutia about meals with people whose faces I imagine as still in late middle age where I am now. Family friends who I hope are still mobile and present. “What?” She asks. I start on my abbreviated…