If the World Was My Child

If the world was my child, fitful and sick in bed I’d put my cool hand gently on your warm forehead I’d offer you a little toast, some chamomile tea I’d ask you what story you wanted me to read If ugly fever dreams startled you and made you so afraid I’d hurry to your... Continue Reading →

Arthritis? The Alps? August in April? Let’s Just Call It Aging

  for Flo Hart Arthritis I remember watching my dear friend Jimmy’s mother, Flo, scoot, literally, or squiggle, like a fish out of water, across the kitchen floor to travel from one cabinet to the next gathering what she needed to put dinner together. I offered to help, and she thanked me with her always... Continue Reading →

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