Another angel at my table

I am, right now, stuck in that stinking, mephitic¬†mire that is grief. It is as though I am cemented to the one place. Just about everything hurts, and just about everything makes me cry. Some photographs arrived in my inbox around lunchtime, and that mallet of sorrow swung a blow so hard that I lost … Continue reading Another angel at my table

where this has nothing to do with me

Reaching for the wind in the branches, tickles fingertips like a feather on your thigh. In the water, you plumb the sea for cloaks of stingrays - the ripples cradling your body. You lay there until your feet and hands looked like crumpled paper, body a breathing corpse having ¬†been diving for coins like a … Continue reading where this has nothing to do with me