When I was twenty-four, I fell in love with mailboxes.
Read MoreI look at things. I guess most people do, but I wonder what everyone else sees when they’re looking. I suppose that’s what conversations are for. Conversations make me tired. I guess that’s why I’m a writer.
Read MoreWhen I was a child on the shoreline, my sister and I would build sand castles when the tide was low.
Read MoreWatermelon rind is an earned privilege. It means you are with - in community, at a potluck, part of a familial unit. At the store, I buy for one. I purchase precut, ruby cubes enclosed in clear plastic.
Read MoreOn Sunday I watch the sun set. From my little balcony, I sit on the deck floor, chairs still folded behind me from a storm last week. They are slim and still and patient, like butterflies with damp wings.
Read MoreThis morning my spine aches right down the middle. I have extended and curled the train track and left a message with the conductor at the station about routine maintenance.
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