The Drive

The Drive

Not wanting to alarm my husband and infant son, in case they’ve fallen back asleep, I don’t call. I don’t even text. But I do take a picture with my camera-phone, because I need proof that I’ve done it, that I’m actually here: sitting in a 2005 Toyota Matrix, outside...
In Praise of Aging

In Praise of Aging

In praise of buses rattling through the streets In praise of passengers jostling for a seat In praise of a transfer I didn’t need to buy In praise of snow falling from the sky, and my down coat Bought secondhand but warm In praise of hips creaking in the wisdom of my...
Silverheels

Silverheels

It was my mom’s first marriage proposal. At eight, she was the older woman. George was only six. After hasty consideration, Mom turned him down. As she explained to her mother, she couldn’t marry George. He liked carrots. She didn’t. Mom and George lived across Watson...
Photograph

Photograph

The photo had sat on the windowsill for the last twenty years. It had borne the sun’s ultraviolet tentacles until they sucked the ink from each pore. The image was that of the first child, a promise of greatness and potential to be cultivated. The child was born by...