March 18, 2026
I wore a clover behind my ear. You laughed and said I was always reaching for luck in the wrong places.
January 3, 2026
We were simpatico, mostly, except when you slipped into your father’s skin. Your dad and mom were hand in glove, you bragged. His hand, her pliant glove, I thought, but never said.
November 8, 2025
She answered with an upturned corner of faded rose lips, a smile of sorts, and transferred the shampoo bottle from my hand to hers.
April 27, 2025
You dig deep, flip through snapshots of memories to find me. I'm here, cut from the same dough as people you know now. I'm in their eyes…
March 16, 2025
Looking for my friendin a blue dress, you smiledthen turned away. Whenyou were gone, my daywas less. But, I know wehad so much more to say.Traveling […]
February 26, 2024
The social worker in the office asked me how long I’d been homeless. I told him for two or three days. That was how long it had taken me to feel destitute on the street and seek help. His next question: Any relation to the man of the same name already in residence at the shelter?
Can it be? I wondered.
December 31, 2022
But last year's collision showed us;
we'd run into a t-section.
Both heading away from each other,
both missing important signals.
August 16, 2021
Short fiction: reliving memories can change our future, sometimes. And listening to each other can change everything.