Yes is never alone in meaning yes No means yes Stop means yes Silence means yes Go away means yes I’m sorry means yes Not again means yes I’m afraid means yes Maybe later means yes Please don’t means yes I don’t want to means yes I’ll call the police means yes I have a... Continue Reading →


Skunked Sky as soft as a good night’s sleep pinks like pillows and dreams the ones you don’t need to remember. The air is absent and invisible no burn or chill, not a rustle no risk, just a river guarded by reeds and miles of possibility. The sun sets early here, slips behind the black... Continue Reading →

Conversation with Blue

You bathe at the banks of the Verde River, Blue, you strike a deep note beside the muddy timber of green reeds that don't hide you when you leave. Those wings reach the edges of my curiosity and I am only brave enough to inquire of your disappearing shadow: "Why do I wait for next, Blue?... Continue Reading →

Power Tools

for Susan Tweit It is September 15.  The sun seems to have hit snooze more often than I did. It is particularly lazy today, and has, perhaps, hesitated at the tree line across the street for hours. Not too subtle a reminder, let me tell you, that days are getting shorter, and worse yet, there... Continue Reading →

Perfect Sanctuary: A Short Story

As we approach the fiftieth anniversary of the '67 Detroit Race Riots, I thought I would share a short story set in Detroit at that time. "This is the end, beautiful friendThis is the end, my only friend, the end."*(Jim Morrison) Perfect Sanctuary I stopped telling the truth to our parish priests in 1967, the... Continue Reading →

Raising Feminists, part 2

When I was pregnant with my girls, and not knowing they were girls, I hoped they would be. Girls. For one reason. I thought  it would be easier to raise female feminists than to raise male feminists. That's my truth. Not proud. Just is. I wasn’t up to what I believed would be too difficult... Continue Reading →

Throw Rugs Like Insurance

Throw Rugs Like insurance they seem to cover so little no matter how big or ornate they lay; dust bunnies hover about, forever waiting for cleaning rolling sweeping it under. They collect a bit of the day’s dirt or a boot’s drips, the remnants of a monsoon or blizzard soaked into an intricate Mexican print... Continue Reading →

Patriotism, Playing Hookie, and What Do You Keep in Your Junk Drawer?

It is Flag Day, and I am playing hookie. There is absolutely no connection. I am merely elated (odd juxtaposition of words) to have a quiet morning alone in my temporary home in Sedona, which is a rare thing these days because I spend my weekends at my permanent home in Flagstaff, thus, I have... Continue Reading →

Northern New Mexico: “Where We Wouldn’t Know Who to Hate”

Laya's hands are small, almost childlike, and she is a short woman, easily a head below me, but she seems to tower above me. It's not the first marvel. She escorts me, with a bit of a waddle, to the massage therapy room, and I think, "This is going to be good." Something about her fragrance,... Continue Reading →

“Seventh,” Secrets at Seven Years Old

My brother’s bedroom was off limits, but that never stopped me from many things in my youth. Having eight siblings, 72 first cousins, and hundreds of class mates at St Mary’s of Redford grade, middle and high school—let alone thousands of parishioners in our little corner of the Detroit metropolis—there was always someone not to... Continue Reading →

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