Writer, reader, truck driver, animal lover
Then I was a woman
I did not lose my innocence as though it were a toy misplaced on the bedroom floor to be kicked under the bed in a haphazard way while I searched for shoes.
Then I was a woman
I did not lose my innocence as though it were a toy miss placed on the bedroom floor to be kicked under the bed in a haphazard way while I searched for shoes.
Interviewer: Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I’m here to talk about your role and why You think that you deserve the empawyee of the month? How did you come to be in the employment of Ms. Portman?
Moments to Home
These moments with you. The way your fingers trace mine. The way you move closer, reaching for me. Reaching into dark waters
Flower of Innocence
The marigold stared at me from the hideous cup holding my morning tea. Chipped paint clinging to chipped ceramic. One more bit of ugliness in this place. I don’t remember it from before. He must have left it behind. He was good at that.
The cake is a lie
June 2015 My mother died today. In her usual way, she baked a beautiful, chocolate cake. She frosted it with care, the way she did everything. Cut a single piece, put it on an ornate blue and white cake plate. Set it on the table with a carefully folded linen napkin and a silver dessert fork. She laid a folded note next to the slice of cake and then methodically Placed the rest of the decadent perfection on the cake stand, set the glass lid over it, and hung her apron on a peg. Then she dropped dead. The doctors said it was a brain aneurism. Gone. Just like that. Seems like such a waste of cake.
He loves me, He loves me not
Let me move this box out of the way. I will get back to it. First, let me tell you what happened. What do you do when someone breaks your heart? Do you scream and cry? Gain 15 pounds on a grief induced self-pity trip involving every flavor of Ben and Jerry’s while inhaling the scent from an abandoned hoody? Do you pretend it doesn’t hurt, get dressed up, go to a party, drink tequila until you forget your own name and wake up in someone else’s bed? You could. None of those were my style though.
It’s been in my dreams for as long as I can remember. This dilapidated old barn with paint chips gathering on the high grass around it. In my dream I’m always standing in a line of trees and it’s across a field.