Age of Awareness
Published in

Age of Awareness

Flowers for my Fuckups

A new tradition on this Day of the Dead

Before my twenties, cemeteries had always been the place for tightlipped, somber occasions. I only ever visited them for the burials. Knots would tense and tangle in my belly. And if we spoke, we only spoke in whispers.

So imagine my happy disorientation when friends brought me to my first Italian cemetery on November 1st, 1975, All…

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tinalear

Novelist. Poet. Musician. Buddhist. Quilter. Animal lover. Visible grownup. Hidden child. Secret dancer when all alone. Makes good bread.