Tag Archives: mourning

Death of a Super Hero

   I was six when I found out I’d never become a super-hero.    We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother, my father.    My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a wild, bloodshot, not-there look … Continue reading

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Marianne

A rocking chair stilled, white on white, burning, no sound– So long, Marianne.

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