I have a clock work heart. In the morning when I wake up, all the gears tick, spin and whirr. They turn without protest as I swing my feet out of bed and go about my morning routine. Slow and steady, spokes touch spokes, turning the great machine that is my body… Read More »Clockwork heart
My mother. What do I say about my mother? What can I say about her? “She was beautiful.” Of course she was. She was my mother after all. What child who does not love their mother think their mother is anything but? Even when crows feet begin their slow, inevitable climb at the corners… Read More »Just give me one moment more.