Sitting at Powell’s

I sit in this bookstore where I feel detached from the young and too young to be the old. Miles away, memories come in with the fog and rest their toes at the edge of the water. The only promise of life is the sound of fury from beyond what only the lost can see.Continue reading “Sitting at Powell’s”

Run, Baby, Run

9-9-2009 to my grandmother and my daughter Run, baby, run, to the gates, to the sun, welcome her there where you two can share stories of home and reunions to come. Grandmother, Mother, Daughter, one day we’ll all be together. You two can prepare for our arrival there. Run, baby, run over golden streets toContinue reading “Run, Baby, Run”