I have my Father’s eyes Almost green-grey. I have my Father’s height. I have his love of reading books. I have his impatience. I have his nose. I have my Father’s fierce loyalty. I have his toes. I have my Father’s fine, wispy hair. I have my Father’s bad eyesight. For that, I have glasses. … Continue reading
Grief is grief. There are no Grief Olympics were families and friends compete for the prize of feeling the most shit about losing the person they loved. Posting “RIP” on Facebook does not make you better or worse than someone who doesn’t. Continue reading
I am not sure that I can say this with much certainty, but I think the chickens preferred adventure novels best. I remember reading them passages from Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Jungle Book, and Charlotte’s Web. The adventure novels, I thought, helped the chickens relax. With each word I could see their feathers flatten, their walk become a little slower, and their clucks morph into a strange purr. The chickens and I were adventurers at heart. Continue reading
I used to think trigger warnings were pointless before I had anything to trigger. Continue reading
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