Disappearing Paths

Some people might describe this yard as plain: the locust trees and rosemary, all green mother ferns and privet shrubs that grow around the stump where children played; some gnomes my son gifted to me, he thought a joke--- like volunteer plants that want to poke through disappearing paths---(though most I wanted.) There used to… Continue reading Disappearing Paths

The Back of a Young Boy’s Neck

He tosses another stone at the waves. I don't see it fall---only the back of his neck, so small and birdlike it makes me inhale deep---in that moment I'm struck by the dusting of sand on his left ear, the slightest glimmer of late summer sweat, the little boy shoulders---strangers to fear--- and downy skin… Continue reading The Back of a Young Boy’s Neck