Bleeding, passing through.

Sibling Day. So that’s a thing is it? Well, here is what I have to say about that. I still don’t know what I did. I thought everything was fine. Mom died, leaving us full grown orphans. We buried her together, next to our father, each of us shouldering some burden of not being anyone’s…

The 19th Century Gets Old

So, I’m nearly 37. Which…isn’t quite true. I’ve seen 37. They were my teachers and my friend’s moms. Even some of the women I know right now are a proper 37, with large grown up homes, ordered finances and…I don’t know. Whatever 37 year olds like. Wine? So, lean into the fear, or it can’t…

‘Bullshit’ isn’t a real swear.

  Older ladies, who still color and set their hair and know how to email, sure they’re fine. Whatever. But the Bills of the world, they do something to me. Cowboy shirt, faded, not worn ironically. Khaki shorts showing the white scars of his knee surgeries, and clean white socks pulled up the calf. Straw…

Pews and Pantyhose. And Lentils.

  I only went because I thought I might be able to still see my parent’s house on the hill from the parking lot. Also I thought maybe the doors would be unlocked. And maybe I could sit alone in familiar stifled silence, rubbing my finger pads over those same those burnt orange- carpeted pews,…

Blue Gatorade and Goodbye

I wrote this once before, a long time ago. I took it down. I’m ready to rewrite it now. It’s long, but it has to be. Settle in. When I ask my seven year old how much she remembers about grandma, who died when she was four, she always tries to please me with memories.…