Stories
Keeping a Journal in Your Later Years
Vera works out the date from evidence, the recycling bins still at the curb, and five words in an old notebook are the only place Roy's hands still exist.
Stories
The Body Keeps Its Own Hours
He filled it to the line he'd scratched with a key, not the one printed on the plastic. The scratch was lower. His shoulder had told him about the printed line ...
Stories
The Afternoon We Labeled Every Photo Box
Nine shoeboxes came down from the attic, and her mother sorted the spilled photographs into two piles: hers, and nobody's. An afternoon of naming what the family had almost forgotten.
Stories
What nobody mentions about the freedom of a slower morning after a lifetime of alarms
The alarm still rings at four fifty three, and Gerald lets it ring itself out from the back step, a tin camp cup worn pale where his thumb rests every morning.
Stories
The Dirt You Don't Know You're In
He turned the seed packet over and read the back, then turned it face-up again to look at the tomato. The tomato on the packet was the size of a softball. He se...
Stories
What the Sunday Drive to Nowhere Takes From You Before It Gives Back
The Cutlass had a pine tree air freshener that had stopped smelling like pine sometime during the previous administration, just a gray cardboard triangle swingi...
Stories
The Distance Between Sunday and Sunday
The legal pad already had three crossed-out questions at the top, scratched through so hard the pen had scored the paper. She'd written do you miss me and
Stories
The Sleep You Thought You'd Finally Earned
The mattress kept the shape of a sleeping man long after he stopped sleeping well in it. On retirement, restlessness, and learning to share a bed with a changed schedule.
Stories
The Night She Stopped Highlighting
The highlighter cap was on the table. Not lost - she could see it, two inches from her coffee mug, a small yellow cylinder she'd set down without deciding to. H...
Stories
The Last Lamp On
Every night the last lamp in the house went off in the same order, until the night it did not. A quiet story about the small rituals that keep a household, and a marriage, running.
