a friend lets me know that he doesn’t want me to take this the wrong way, but he has a question. “do you live at the beach?” and i smile. i wish. another good friend told me recently that she loves me, but that i really need to back off in my parenting style. i laughed
on either side of the path tall grasses hold bursts of white butterflies when we brush against them. we can see the sea as soon as we begin our hike but as we keep on, stepping over hermit crabs as we go, a turn in a new direction puts the whole of the bay into
apparently twenty years isn’t very long. when i was young a month seemed never ending and a year felt so vast that it couldn’t be conceived. but tomorrow joshua and i will have been married for twenty years. somehow it doesn’t feel like very much time has passed at all. i remember those days leading
joshua and i celebrated 19 years of marriage a couple of weeks ago. the first four years of it there were no children. no mazzy. no abe. no ella. i remember the counseling and the fighting. i remember how hard it was to suddenly be married in a new city where i knew no one.
i’m remembering last night. i’m remembering the tone of his voice when he interrupted me. i’m remembering the exasperated sighs when he had to do what i do all the time for children. i’m remembering his apology that seemed half-hearted. i’m making a list of the wrongs done to me. i’m fueling unforgiveness in my
i met a young man. he was too popular and too talented and i watched from a distance, quiet. i was so broken, i gambled a kiss with him and lost on purpose. our relationship has always been a gamble. our first date was a movie. he picked me up and sped down the highway.
i’ve spent the summer with my family. my husband has blurred. he’s one of the five of us. we’re all in this together. but i don’t know. sometimes i miss the two of us. apparently he could have been found on the beach in his wayne state hat making drip sand castles. that’s where i
“so how’s your sex life?” this is a question that is usually read from the front of a glossy magazine in the check-out aisle or said in a counseling office when things aren’t going so well. this question she decides to ask me while we’re drinking coffee in her kitchen. i froze. and i did
i stole moments to see you. walking down stone paths to find you, to be alone with you. when your words breathed close to my ear, the whole world turned upside down. water came from the rock. i saw through your eyes and loved this world. i forgave myself. when i saw through your eyes
we glide over shallow, clean water. we see the fish and rocks below. we are raised up just enough to be a part of the river. they say if you want to know if you should marry a person, you should go canoeing. see how that works out first and then. then you can commit