I don’t know how to parent through this.
Like, there is still homework.
And dinner.
Sometimes, we forget our words. Sometimes, we don’t remember how to mourn. Silence stands between us, a leviathan of unspoken grief. We linger in its shadow, waiting for the delicate whisper of rain.
Posted in Microstories, Writing
Tagged fiction, micro, microprose, yeah write, yeahwrite
This garden promises solitude. The water glitters with koi, crimson sparks stolen from the sunset. Down from the house drifts a faint melody, some etude or nocturne. Soon there will be dancing. His hand will press against your back; his fingers will pluck the lily from your hair.
Posted in Writing
It’s raining outside- that heavy Chicago late-summer rain that ruins shirts and hairdos, knocks down branches and floods gutters and sewers. Continue reading
I didn’t know what I was expecting when I broke into Grandma Marie’s old house with my girlfriend, but the man falling out of a hole in thin air to land at our feet wasn’t it. Continue reading
