A Teacher After All
One of the last bits of unsolicited feedback I received before retiring in late 2020 was that I should have been a teacher.
The Potluck Life of Roy
When you grow up within a large multigenerational extended family, it can be extraordinarily confusing to decipher which second and third cousins belong to which branches of the gigantic family tree. For me, the annual family reunions were massive jigsaw puzzles of faces and names that seemed to grow immeasurably each year, whether blood-related or …
Whatever You Do, Don’t Screw Up
I was about to step into a cavernous meeting room packed with mostly male executives, the crème de la crème at the top of the company. I had the results of a readership survey to share with them, along with recommendations to revamp the employee communications program. As I was beckoned inside the open door, …
Even Rocks Crumble
My brother told me there were ghosts upstairs—ghosts of old and ugly people who thought this was still a hotel. He said they roamed the halls all day and all night, looking for the bathroom. I wasn’t quite old enough to know better, and I had an overactive imagination, so it’s no wonder the tailpipes …
Light of God
Slices, slivers and shards Something I cannot name Shoved away in crevices Waiting to play the game Stones with ore-dipped hues Keeping secrets I do not own Weighted down by centuries All puffed up now, and grown Streaming strident Light of GodThe purest, whitest breathCovering all who creep and climbCrushed down to certain death Footsteps …
The Drifter
He came from the highway. At least that’s what he’d said. A raggedy old man wearing dirty, torn clothes, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. The polished oak of his walking stick gleamed at us in the fading sunlight. Mother and Freida had been chatting. I had been petting Poppy, Freida’s fluffy white poodle. The old …
The Playhouse
Tiny chair With red-topped table Teapot and a braided rug Teddy bears on perky curtains Morning light on bright blue walls. Sheltered in the blissful silence Stretching through the afternoons Swirling storiesWords unspokenMine aloneIn solitude
Lake Dreams
My silent face stares back From blackened glass Muddled by ripples From a careless breeze. Afternoons slide Lazy and languid Stretching out amid the pines Swaying and sighing with my soul Below a cloudless sky. No one to catch my fleeting faraway dreamsBut me.
Hearing the Owl
In dead of night Straining to hear the muted call Of our woodland owl Perched away in the pines. With a whisper of awakening Deep inside a haunting stillness He speaks. Floating through laden air Sliding across rooted worries Soft coos of calm and comfort. Come again, Sweet Owl.Come again.
Playing With Rosa
We would walk the length of the playground, Rosa and I. Arms around each other’s waists, strutting lockstep through the weeds, sand, and sparse tufts of seasonal grass sprouting beyond the monkey bars and seesaws. I was a head taller and about twelve shades paler. A gangly strawberry blonde against my brown-skinned best friend. We …