Her foot pressed down against the November snow and pulled up, whip like, fast and efficient. It was the day after Thanksgiving. No…
My mother died Sunday. She was in the ground by Tuesday. May God unbless her soul.
A poem in prose
They say that God sent the rock to save her — reciting some automatic catechism with the desperate…
Alton didn’t say goodbye when he left that morning. Sheila knew it was because he was worried about her. If she passed away before…