It has been pouring for three days and it continues to rain, relentlessly and heavily.
It has been pouring for three days and it continues to rain, relentlessly and heavily.
I was watching the classic movie Chinatown with the sound turned up because of my poor hearing.
A kaleidoscope of face paint, dreadlocks, a silk scarf, a biker jacket, camouflage chock full of zippers.
Forever means continual, eternal, endless.
On a trip home to visit my aging parents, I walked past the open door to their bedroom, where my mother crawled on her hands and knees atop the mattress . . .
Gazing from my bedroom window, I spot the cat burglar sneaking next door.
Fifty-plus early birds gather outside the DMV.
The jar fought me.
The three of us sat at the dinner table, TV news a few feet away.
We drink on the tracks behind our old school, tucked under the exhale of pines.
Two months after the divorce, you attend a wedding with your ex-husband.
I wake up sweating. Click on the ceiling fan.
When I wake up for the second time my hangover has mostly abated, and there is a pigeon nesting on the roof.
My grade-two teacher Miss Dowd taped a chart to the blackboard extolling the benefits of a healthy breakfast.
Twelve years his junior, I look to my husband for landmarks and landmines when it comes to aging.
Four months after a concussion, I lay on the sofa wondering if I would be useless for the rest of my life.
The cop announces he’s going to dispatch the rattlesnake with his pistol.
Dad held up the envelope with one word printed on it: Yes!
We sat on a park bench, chatting about our grown children.
Sugar rush plus pucker from the sour.