Emily was almost invisible behind the big overstuffed armchair in her father’s study, but looked quickly around its armrest to see if anyone would be coming in and interrupting her plan about his chessboard. Continue reading
recovery
Bouquet of Shadows
I hold this in my cupped hands,
Stare into its depths.
Red and orange flicker, leap and stab.
Smoky, shifting colors blacken and curl
Its abundant petals. Continue reading
Cycles of Grief
Go ahead, let go of it.
You’ve held it close in the curve of your belly,
Feeding your resentment,
Your sense of powerlessness,
Until almost nothing of you remains.
