Poetry

My mother comes back as the mock orange’s white blossoms with yellow anthers, their faint sweet scent that the scant breeze blows to me. It’s flowering for the first time. I sink my hands into the dirt, get closer to … Continue reading →

It’s raining again, and Lucy, my daughter home from college for the summer, is wearing her dead grandmother’s powder blue raincoat. I use the yellow-handled screwdriver from the tackle box of tools my dead father-in-law gave me as a wedding … Continue reading →