New poem
Hieroglyphs for Meghan I bob and weave in the winter-laden street retracing the hill I climbed each night to bring on labor. When I step back and squint I see the rooms that sheltered us exposed to raw December. Pale and clammy, our house has shrunk. The siding’s gone...
When children die
In the last 24 hours I have learned of two families who recently lost young children - their tragedies came at me out of the blue. I find myself wishing I could sit with the parents and listen to their stories. Since my 19-year-old daughter died suddenly in 1992,...
In hot water
Up to my chin in 105 degree water, suphur pricked my nostrils as I bobbed in velvety fluid. I felt as if I had returned to childhood when play and exploration were the focus of my days. My flip flops slapped the wooden deck as I padded from the mineral baths to an...
Take a walk, save a life
Everyone seems to tap friends for money to cure AIDS, leukemia, or breast cancer - or in my case, cystic fibrosis. Lately, I've been raising funds to support a walk-a-thon sponsored by the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. Why CF? Because my 22-month-old neighbor Lily has...
Haircut
"You're too vain," my mother scolded everytime I'd obsess over a new hairdo I wanted to try, carefully copied from the pages of Seventeen magazine. I never looked liked the models, but that didn't stop me from trying. I slept on brush rollers, pink sponge rollers with...
It was a dark and stormy night
Standard wisdom for writers is that cliches are always bad. But I'm not so sure. If a cliche revs you up enough to start typing words on a blank screen, is that really a bad thing? I'm in favor of whatever primes the pump. Oops. Cliche. Seriously, it is a dark and...
