My Mother’s Roses

I arrived for my mother's Memorial a day early last year. One of the few things left to do  was to prepare the roses, turned into rose petals, to include with her ashes for the funerary basket. She wanted to be creamated and set to rest in her beloved Pacific ocean.  Between my sister and …

This Winter

I laid in bed most mornings last winter wanting to disappear, imagining what it would be like to just let myself sink from the darkness to the blackness below. One morning, I looked at the Strophalos I wear around my neck and simply said aloud, "Help". That was it. No tears. No drama. No fear. …

Harsh Mothers

harsh mothers are still mothers they teach us independence and strength making us thick-skinned they teach us truth early they teach us war and revolution within ourselves some memories don't leave your bones like salt in the oceans they become a part of you and you carry them like scars the invisible kind only visible …