I drift into the bar as if lost, and in some ways I am. It’s been four years since I’ve been here. Renovations have made it a less seedy place to down a Jack and Coke. There are now colored globes at intermittent...
Read MoreCumulus clouds drifted past a pale sun, a chilly day for swimming, but I couldn’t resist traveling to the lake for a good soaking. I yearned for the solace I’d find there. I invited my nine-year-old granddaughter, Annie, to join...
Read MoreI write often to you. Looking at my handwriting, I admit my letters look like the meager scratches I made in the third grade, and that year seems closer than the distance between us. I write that I miss your homemade gorditas....
Read MoreMy hands held her face as she died, and her name changed becoming as unknowable as the language used to give it life. I remember her brown hair sprinkled with grey. It seemed to sag when she left me. I don’t know how God chose...
Read MoreAs my great-grandmother lay dying, the family knowing she wouldn’t last the night, stood around her bed and sang Polish hymns. My father placed me on her chest. At three I was lean and hard. She was soft without hope for...
Read MoreWhenever we come home from shopping, each toting a large, thin-handled bag, my husband immediately removes the shirts and pants he’s bought, snips off the tags, slips the clothes onto hangers, and hangs them in the closet. I, on...
Read MoreThis scrubland, a scattering of purple hedge nettle. The path between the lagoon’s flat surface and where cows lull and breed weaves my soul into distant landlocked dunes. Tall grasses (and your hair) wave in an ocean’s breath,...
Read MoreHow to measure the distance between grace and chance occurrence. The circumstance of her lace and his raw silk pants. Is there a truth in the passing of clouds or the fortuitous meeting of strangers? How should one measure the...
Read MoreIts name etched lightly into the support pillar in front high sideways across vision but barely visible from the distraction of intensely azure blue cut irises. The serving bar two large windows behind and a large glass pitcher...
Read MoreI was only thirteen years old when separated from my family. My mother was hospitalized for several months, I don’t know why. Never told. As a result, I was forced to stay with my aunt Marie and uncle, Jerry. They lived in an...
Read MoreFour weary tourists slump into chairs at a sidewalk café in the Piazza della Rotunda. A red motor scooter whizzes by nearly hitting a blond toddler chasing a yellow balloon. Honk, screech, mother yells. Dogs bark, people shout,...
Read More“Machines are down.” Muted voices, blank faces, rows of citizens wait. For license renewals bureaucracy rules. No worker says sorry. No coffee, water, cheer. Numbly, the people sit, Old, gray with cane and hearing aids, Young,...
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