Wisconsin based Writer
Bibliophile and Film Enthusiast
Heart of the Valley
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. During my seventh summer, I crouched between the thick beds of Jelly reeds, my heart drumming in my chest as I waited for the captain in our childhood game of King Catcher to discover me. We spent afternoons propelling from the limbs of Jas trees, each new bruise worn like a medal of honor, the blushing blue on our skin a pious complement to the Tago River.
Across Blood Lines
I’d often find myself looking back over past conversations, instances from my childhood, even her childhood, trying to understand how we got to the point we did. Images cycled through my mind like an inaccurate photo album. The summation of our relationship over the past thirty years felt jarring. Which experiences were authentic, and which were crafted for her benefit?