Blog

When I was in Puerto Rico, author Mayra Santos-Fibros talked about the practice of setting out a meal for the dead. I was surprised at the practice and wasn’t tempted to follow it, but it did ...

Delphiniums, those glorious petals in a gardner’s crown are not easily won. When small they can be devoured in a singl evening by a snail the size of a thumbnail. If they live past infancy, ...

What’s not in the picture is Mother. But she’s here just beyond the rise. We know this by the circular tracks. Mother doesn’t like backing up. She’s often said so. To make ...

I am a button of bone – hewn from the tibia of a dead donkey, sanded smooth between the thumb and index finger of a woman the age of time. After smoothing me she bore me through with an awl ...

When I first brought them from my mother’s garden, they were limp, weedlike. She called them Evening Primrose. She said they would multiply, be lovely in the Spring. I was septical. I waited. ...

…I am an urn of Adam’s skin, the thickness of a lifetime. When kicked I spill protesting blood. Each year, Spring takes a swing at bringing me around. Spring sings a resurrection song I ...

I woke up this morning with the image of a pearl in my mind: a tiny sphere brought into being by an irritating grain of sand within the house of a muscle; a space where competition between a foreign ...

In speaking of our desire for our own far-off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable ...

...

To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we ...

...

...