
A Real Mother
It’s not conception, not pregnancy, not nursing, not even wiping snotty little noses. After all, dogs and cats give birth Continue reading
It’s not conception, not pregnancy, not nursing, not even wiping snotty little noses. After all, dogs and cats give birth Continue reading
I go to church because I like holding hands while we walk forward. We’re all lost, but we’re all walking. Continue reading
It’s never as fun as in Peter Pan. It’s murder—A public execution. Peter Pan flew, but I don’t know how. Continue reading
Wake up and listen. There are sounds you’ve been taught not to hear: Joy is as real as despair. Continue reading
Like a fawn, the tiny girl stands nearby and says nothing. She watches it all and still stays silent, safe Continue reading
Sheep wander around me, slow round puffs with faces. An Irish mountainside slopes up to gnarled crags. The sea moves Continue reading
[Part II of “Inner Rooms”] If I were singing the poem of my husband’s life, I’d sing of his laughing Continue reading
This essay was published in The Timberjay newspaper on March 5, 2015, in answer to a piece by Ms. O’Hara Continue reading