Survivors

On this wet Sunday afternoon, quiet beckons with slender tendrils and we head out, dogless and solitary, seeking only a spit of dry ground to wander the rock-encrusted coastline just down the road from our little town; Recently returned from half a world away heads...

Who is This I?

My ex-husband used to tell me that there are many kinds of love. This in response to my frustration that he couldn’t make up his mind, or rather his heart. I should have read the signs right there and then, faced the disappointing truth that he would always desire...

Pyromancer

Fanning the still air, back and forth, back and forth, alchemist palming the blue fire of potential; it stifles me, this heat, blood clearly not meant for boiling. Tools line up like minions awaiting my grasp; mute, dumb things without which this half-acre garden...