July 17, 2021 Soul sorrow brandishes her, dispossesses and stuns her.
June 25, 2021 Who's to blame? The preverbal switch-a-roo, so to say. I like to think that it's others, but it's usually me.
June 18, 2021 Burnt air tastes of ash and smoke. Specks of lined paper rise up on a sweeping current into the sky.
May 26, 2021 I have a million thoughts meandering through my brain, but none of them crave the microphone. None of them rise to the forefront.
August 4, 2019 Shade sweeps across my toes and hair as my hips sway. I talk low, threading words into sentences, traversing the wireless to another. Her voice, small and intelligent, vast in her breath of language, is articulate and a joy.
August 4, 2019 She is round and fluid in a long floral skirt and a salmon-colored short-sleeve shirt. She drinks coffee, and her gaze flits over the room. Her lips are thin but sweet, smiling when anyone speaks.