It was the 3rd of July100 plus degreesher cancer had returned.the picnic was tomorrowher kitchen was asunderso she came to mineto make brownies and potato

Creator Guide, I have most everythingI want, my needsare more than simplymet, you’ve more than simply earned my trust. You invite my tired bonesto lie

we drive to see a house ablaze in lightwindows trimmed in green and more greenthe doors flash red and white, our faces glow incandescentbig bulbs

If, at the harvest, I bring you a jug of cold water,and you drink till you are drunk, I am your servant. If, in the

I became a mother,my life upendedthe way persistent rain todayhas filled the watering can,overturning it. Doesn’t love seek lovealways? My own mother held meso close

Mid-day, a slightest shivering mistbut still the sun staring overyour shoulder, those wispsstealing across peripheral fieldslike several clever students late for class.The professor with the

I don’t know, Lord, but sometimes I feel like all my accomplishments could fit inside a Pez dispenser, with room left over for candy. Let

In the beginningwas the darklike the darkon the roadto Cochranewhen at highwayspeedto flick headlights offwas to flirt with oblivion the darklike the long middle-of-the-nighthall on

Overnight,new toadstoolsshoulder throughsodden grassthe way sorrowsemerge, oneafter another. Traveler,in a season doublyscented by windfallapples and creepingrot, please sidestepthe lone wet leaf,beaded with dewlike tiny mirrors.Those