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...
top of page
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...
bottom of page