Glass

After they die, I crack a cold, cheap beer and comb through my belongings.  I look for letters, texts, facebook comments and photographs.  Listen to messages to see if maybe, somewhere along line, they’ve left me the gift of their voice. After they die, I scramble desperately for something left of them.  Something tangible.  Something …

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When it Hits Home: A Shooting Next Door

Today when Adam left for work, we spent a long time in the doorway wrapped up in each other’s arms.  A long time.  An I-don’t-want-to-let-you-go amount of time. How fucking lucky am I that I still have him to hold onto, because some of my neighbors woke up without that gift. Some fathers today woke …

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With Candles Lit by Tears

I intended to do far more writing while abroad.  Until I got sick.  Ibiza offers far too little sleep, and far too many other things.  And after I got sick, I got sick with something else. Then sick with something else, and it seemed the illnesses came in waves.  I’m a fragile little bird. However, pharmacies …

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