Wet Words (Fiction)

Sometimes I am afraid my words will drown. I am more afraid of being left alone without them, so I teach them how to swim. I teach them how to survive. My words are the only reminder of who I once was before him, before us, before this. Wet words fall out every time I’m forced to tell this story for one audience or the next.

The House that Fell on Me (Fiction)

The roughness, instead, spread quietly up her arms with every month that passed. It crept up her neck with every long look at his photograph. It hardened her face every time she looked in the mirror and saw the empty space in the doorway that he would never darken again. 

I saw love build and break my mother.