This morning, my son
has a conversation
with the sun.
He - a round baby human
behind cloth and cold window.
She - a golden flame
behind blue earth and snow.
He sings and coos,
while she in her brilliance,
peek-a boos.
Being over Fleeing
I am cultivating simplicity, relying less on entertainment, technology, and complexity. At this time, this post-election time, I am plungin...
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She pulls her index and middle fingers to her mouth and sticks her tongue between them. "What does this mean?" Mom asks, frighte... -
I am the introvert hostess hiding inside her bathroom. G uests arrive to my writings on the wall, to platters of awkward tension and to ... -
She held a box of crackers and a couple of other things in her hands, which I cannot remember now. And as her three items went beep, beep...
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