I write poetry, fiction, and nonfiction.
Flash Fiction / Young Cupid
He smelled of strawberry fields in the springtime, and he shared his crayons with me. Our desks were interconnected; separated by a metal bar that divided his cubicle from mine. I’d catch him borrowing objects from my cubicle; a three-sided ruler or a stubby pencil, but I didn’t mind. He had a way of looking at me through spider-like, thick eyelashes that made me feel warm inside.
Melanie's Guide To Men
Melanie was not allowed to date when she was younger, or to be out after dark. As soon as the sun began to set in the west, Melanie had to be inside the house. Her mother, a strict disciplinarian, would say, “There are two types of women who are out after dark; those required to be for a job, like a policewoman, and those of a disreputable nature, like a hooker. And, since you are neither one of those, you had better be inside before dark.”
Miss Rena and Me
It is the summer of 1972, and I am playing outside with my 4-year-old brother when he falls to the ground and lies still. I try to rouse him from his slumber, but he begins to shake all over and I grow scared and call for my mother. I race inside the house to where she is preparing lunch, and I tell her that he has fallen and is not getting up. Unsure as to the accuracy of my statement, she goes outside and finds my brother just as I describe.
It is the first day of class at Yankton Middle School, and I am hopelessly lost. I was late to school this morning because I’d been running around looking for my shoes in boxes the movers had left. I glance again at the schedule in my hand, and I see that first period English is scheduled in Room 15. I then check each door’s number as I wander down the hallway to ensure it matches with my schedule.
Walking Four Miles When I Was Six
When I tell people I walked four miles a day to attend school when I was six years old and living in Mississippi, they usually roll their eyes and say “sure” as if to say, “I don’t believe you.” My mother and father were teachers who insisted their children get a “proper schooling.” As the nearest parochial school was two miles away from the tiny four-room house the eight members of my family were crammed into, walking to school became de rigueur. No matter the weather condition, my four older siblings and I walked to school – over twenty miles a week round trip. I would have liked to ride a bus to school, but the parochial school did not bus kids at the time.