FAST CAR

Her brother called me last night. He has this voice, like a radio jazzman. Low and round. Makes you feel like you’re swallowing it right through the phone.

“Valerie?” He said. “It’s Allen,” he told me. I already knew because, unlike me, my phone never forgets a name. “News isn’t good,” he said.

The Poetry of Harriet the Spy

I write often about grief and loss but today looking through quotes from one of my favorite books, Louise Fitzhugh’s 1964 classic, Harriet the Spy, I noticed some of the most beautiful poetry throughout. Here is something I wanted to share: “WHEN SOMEBODY GOES AWAY THERE’S THINGS YOU WANT TO TELL THEM. WHEN SOMEBODY DIES MAYBEContinue reading “The Poetry of Harriet the Spy”

Fried Eggs

She had this operation but they never told me what she’d look like after. So I tried not to look but I think she knew. Later when I saw her I had to pretend. I had to sort out where to lay my eyes when she was in the room, but hers were flat onContinue reading “Fried Eggs”

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