The Rancher’s Wife

ranch

  She leans back in the recliner, her legs, dressed in powder blue slacks, stretch out long between us. Her white hair, short, Mary Martin in Peter Pan short. It is warm enough outside, sit by the river and read a book warm, but she has the heater on inside, cranked up so that upon [Read More...]

Getting Mama Ready

The Last Bath

  In 1966, when we got word of my father’s death, it was my brother’s crying that frightened me most. The way he beat at the wall and yelled about the men he would grow up and kill one day.  Mama had worried that her death would undo Frank. Maybe she’d remembered his cries from [Read More...]

I wish the Mayans were right

Newtown funeral

For the past four months it has felt like somebody pushed my head underwater into the pool of grief and is holding it there, attempting to drown me. I can’t come up from air until the one thing I don’t want to happen —  my mother’s death — happens. Then came the massacre at Newtown.  I [Read More...]


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