Wednesday, August 21, 2013


Sometimes, shit just hurts. It's important to tell someone. Scream it if you have to.


For those moments when you need a wagon to carry the ones you love.


Sometimes, I miss my old Volvo, Sylvia.  She served me well; through snowy and soupy days, back and forth on long stretches of highway, carrying children and groceries, she ran and ran.  Sylvia didn't have all of the bells and whistles of my new car (a Subaru I've named Fat Bessie); no radio or air conditioning or working odometer, but I rubbed her dash, and she worked hard for me.  I will miss you, Sylvia, and love you always.

Monday, August 19, 2013


For K.  Otter has worked hard--he's felt too many cold, gray mornings and drunk too much black, tepid coffee.  He meets the dawn and claws at crabs, hunts fish. He works and hopes this is enough.