He Who Is Small

You don’t notice her crying at the top of the swirly slide, how she’s blissfully bounded the steps and gotten herself stuck at the top…like you did once. Now there’s no way out of this except down– zooming over slippery metal or clambering backward on the...
Time All Busted to Pieces

Time All Busted to Pieces

It’s six o’clock on the dot when my paper bag and I pass together under the aching trees. Above, leaves rally their best color, a burst of beauty close to the end, something to remember them by. I rest the bag on the porch. The steam of hot stew and warm bread rises...