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The Apron
I remember the feel of the soft terrycloth apron as she wiped the tears from my face. The cloth was thin from being washed a couple of...
My Writing Desk at Midnight
I hate that feeling when I'm behind. I get in survival mode sometimes, when I'm just trying to get through the moment or the current...
I Won
I write because I cannot speak what I want to say. My mouth fails me. It always has. Away with words! I write for all the times I was...
Gold Cat
It was so hot that the air she breathed into her tiny lungs felt like the steam coming out of Mama’s kettle. Holt, Florida must be the...
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