We were enjoying some herbal treats one night, when who should knock at the door but the Mormon missionaries!

We hear their voices from our bedroom. “Are your mom and dad here?” Kristopher and I look at each…

I’ve been struck by how un-sad I feel about the passing of Mary Oliver. How could I not be sad about the death of a poet who…

I once had a student who moved like water, so much so that one day when she came in out of the rain, I could barely tell where the drops of rain ended and she began. And when she spoke, I could barely tell where she ended and her words began. “I remember something on the bus,” she said. “Tell me if I…

I have oh so many words to express grief and suffering.

I can oh so poetically tell you about my pain.

I am oh so good at articulating sorrow.