Her husband knew about the closet stacked with art supplies. The paints, pencils, pastels, dozens of brushes of varying quality. Chalk, charcoal, and graphite. After Emma turned three, she dedicated a corner to craft supplies, glitter, stickers, markers and crayons.… Continue Reading
As line after line of code scrolled up the little screen, Miles felt the weight of Ken’s hand on the back of his chair. “What did you want to show me? Carol’s retirement party starts in 15 minutes. Gloria’s is… Continue Reading
Isabella rises at first light, as always. Fifty years in the same house. Seventy years with the same man, now passed. Nine children. Four boys, four girls, living. One boy dead. Drowned. Or was it a fire? “Aye,” she whispers,… Continue Reading
Butterfly Boy is watching TV in the trailer park house he shares with his ma, Jeannie. His castle is guarded by a moat of cigarette butts and beer bottles. His face is brown like hers, but the bandages covering his… Continue Reading
When I crooked my neck to check on my six-year-old daughter Maggie, I found her standing in the aisle near a tidy swim trunk display. She peered up through curls of overgrown bangs at a young male mannequin. His fiberglass… Continue Reading
He built his first house for Sophia. The love of his life. The swan. The gliding angel whose voice was like silk. He built big, against an expansive canvas of hills and fields. A place a little way out of… Continue Reading
Teardrops of snow danced in the night to the melody of the wind, spiraling toward the earth by the thousands. Angela watched the storm by candlelight from the window in her living room, sipping hot chocolate. She figured the candy… Continue Reading
Tommy bolted out of the parking garage elevator as soon as the door opened. A man waiting outside the elevator stood with mouth agape as he watched the toddler fly past him. I dashed after my son. Clad in a… Continue Reading
It’s close to ten years since I last saw him. And now, here he is, standing where I need to be standing. And there’s a part of me that wants to hide behind a tree, to wait until he’s gone.… Continue Reading
It kills me, sometimes, how people can hate me so much and still be oblivious of me. Every once in a while, a forlorn soldier will acknowledge me with a nod, the relief and recognition clear in their exhausted irises.… Continue Reading