Category 365 Collection

The mint and spice scent
of my grandfather's pipe tobacco,
once lost

A purple dome descends upon our house as my dad steps out of his 1987 Chevy Cavalier.

Burning bright, making heat, it makes sense now

I got a landmine for my last birthday. She ordered me to plant it in our yard.

After retirement, the years become a blur

flesh of
fruit
soft but
un ripe

I still write about sunsets.
Mundane as it is, the closest
I have ever come to God

Tell me who you are.

I still remember the day I sat on a padded bench among other women

After we younglings in choir loft intone our last song, we close our hymnals...