When your son reached across my hot plate and speared his fork into my hash browns, I fought the primal urge to stab my fork into his grubby little paw.
Summer Girl
I never knew her name But I loved her Because when she ascended from the water Her long brown hair clung To the back of her neck And her one-piece swimsuit. She lived behind freckles And her brown eyes Never met mine. The giant concrete pond teemed With kids – mostly white, some black –…
The Word was God
“It’s just like Charlie Brown!” I knew my stepmother’s words came from a place of affection, but it didn’t feel like it. I had worked diligently on this short story about a young boy and his debilitating crush on a girl. Her words had reduced my work to a story that could be slapped into…
Your father, revisited
This past summer I wrote this poem “Your Father.” Something’s being bothering me about it ever since then, but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Last night I realized it needed a second stanza to complete it. So here’s the new version: When I told your father your old house had…