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“Where was the accident?” he repeated. Marie could see fear creeping through his eyes. “What kind of question is that?” he asked. The fact that his answer was another question bolstered her. “I want to know what you know about the accident,” she said. Her armpits were wet, her heart rate higher than it should…
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Marie stared at the golden man, unblinking, her brain unable to comprehend what he meant. She hadn’t made any deal with him. This was the first time she’d ever seen him. For a moment, she felt unanchored to the world. She wondered if she’d been given too much pain medication. Her head seemed open to…
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Marie opened her eyes. The soft light of morning peeked into the bedroom. Dawn seemed gray, and that made sense. It rained last night. She turned back the covers, rubbed a hand over her belly and gasped. The swell of the baby was gone. She bolted upright, looking around the room, realizing where she was.…
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The baby wasn’t ready yet. As Marie climbed back into the SUV, her huge belly feeling heavier than when she had gone into the hospital, the tears of frustration and fatigue she had been holding back began to steadily leak down her cheeks. Her husband, Ned, took the driver’s seat without the usual pep in…
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You used to make me cookies And drop them at my door But now when you bake cookies I don’t get them anymore.
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Today on Kickstarter, my project Falling Down the Well is live. This new poetry collection explores the emotional spirals that trap us, particularly when we’ve experienced a traumatic loss. The collection is beautifully illustrated by the supremely talented Issa Brown, who has been my friend and creative partner since 2018. Our funding goal is $1000,…
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Driving down that stretch of road Where my bus used to carry me Full backpack, heavy lunchbox, Just past those big beautiful houses That even as a child gave me longing sighs, I look for places that no longer exist Like the consignment shop Where Mom and I would go To pick up cardigans and…
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What pale forgotten light breaks there Upon the fair horizon where I cast my eyes despite the glare Of the approaching dawn. How could I remember not This slow unfolding beauty, hot With hope for all the things I thought Were lost to me and gone. I must reach back into the past Where once…
The Quick and the Dead
Short stories. Creative experiments. Ideas that might not pan out.
The Quick and the Dead 