"Can one be fully human without experiencing tragedy? The end of the world for a caterpillar is a butterfly for the master. Death is resurrection." -Anthony De Mello I died in front of my mother in high school. I'd been caste as a voiceless bug in a school play. The director assigned a boy…Read more A Little Death
We broke into pieces slowly, like an uncovered cake drying out for weeks on a counter. I'd say the crumbling began after he'd admitted to starting the fire in our apartment. It took a while to accept it as truth given the erosion of safety I'd been avoiding most of my adult life. I'd been brave enough to examine…Read more Shutter
It's Me! she said Like that store in Oak Bluffs A clever name ensuring identification would equate with profit It's Me! she said Of the shirt brother wanted Of the success sister achieved Of my crooked nose If it was not an extension of herself it didn't exist There are many things I can almost…Read more Mum
He was never tasked with picking us up from anywhere and truthfully I don't remember if on this occasion, we were coming or going. What I do recall was, he couldn't see the road. Katie and Reid were oblivious in the back seat of the Isuzu looking small, bright and cute. Katie was wearing a…Read more The Weight
It was the season for endings; late Fall. The night we got the call saying we couldn't go home we'd been celebrating my brother's birthday. He was born the same day as our father, whose name he shares. The pain of division was magnified against the weight of its timing. Katie and Reid howled on…Read more Life Cycles
Thomas Wolfe had hypergraphia. His editor was patient. The end.
Yesterday I bumped into some old writing; several thousand words chronicling the death of a decade which now looks like a worn out towel in my memory. It made me question love; why we need it, how to go about it, what it's for, why bother the risks. Last night I dreamt about an…Read more Love is.