The Leaf that Stayed
Stop. Go. Spring comes dotted, stalling Green. Red. Spring sputters, sprayed in both Colors indistinct with a certain blindness. The...
A Different Kind of Spring
“The year your mother passed,” Dad begins. I don’t like that word, “passed”. When he uses it, the implication is that her death was a...
Vulnerabilities
I’m struggling to write about something when it all feels worth little to nothing. Working from home, we’re told that we’re valuable. ...
