My mother's voice hints of sadness, though she tries to smile through the phone line.Slowly with her morning voice, she says, "I am not sending…

A souvenir- a memory…. I was seven years old the first and last time I ran away from home. I remember I was mad at my mother– but at what I do not know.I put a few things in a…

The table was set. Crystal clear and inviting. He had ordered her favorite flowers. Pink and delicate like her lips. His coat…her hat, the details fell into place. Her bare leg teased him. She teased, "Only red shoes are worn…

Early morning. Raining. Dark stay-in-bed-sky, seven a.m.. The weather cancels going to the brocante… Grab my "trying-to-be-my-friend-MAC", fluff up the pillows in bed, jump back in bed, put my cold feet on French Husband's hot feet, surf around on the…

Right in front of me, in my daily life there are things I see every single day and yet do not really see them for what they are. Or, and there are things I could do but don't, and even…

On my friend's bookshelf.Leaning against the books stood a paper doll. She was stepping out of herself, or so it appeared. I found the symbolism intriguing. The books=tools of knowledge, her old fashion clothing+ stepping forward nude. One gloved hand…