Happiness. It's relative.
My parents are buried on a shady hill in an old cemetery in Hastings, Michigan. They share a headstone, like they shared the headboard of their double bed for sixty-four years. She is on the right, he is on the left, but I can’t… Continue Reading “Flock”
It’s late at the Super 8. There’s dirt under my fingernails even though I wore gloves. I have one pink geranium I couldn’t make fit. The urn for their flowers that I bought new last year was damaged by the winter. My husband left… Continue Reading “Annual Planting”
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