In their bedroom, I move my mother’s walker to the side. I roll the warm cloth like the fancy spas do and place it on her chest.
“Just leave this here for awhile, Mom. Okay?”
“Your father thinks you don’t love him anymore.”
Continue reading… "Waiting for It to End"
On the first day of this year, I purchased a pair of midnight shoes. These are no island shoes, no hippies-take-‘em-off-at-the-door-protect-the-carpet shoes, chores-to-do shoes, no hitch-to-town-slipper, no drying-off-after-the-beach clog. No, these are the kind of shoes meant to make noise on urban concrete.
Continue reading… "Roadkill Rising"