An Anniversary Poem


the road runs underneath us
and orange lights pass
through the windows of our car
as we drive home

you sleep in the 
passenger seat

and i drive and drive 
and think about that day

we wore our best -
a tux and a white dress

and we stood before 
a crowd of people

i told you that 
i'd love you
for better or worse

i told you that i'd love you
for all the days
of your life

and you held your 
left hand out to me

and i slipped a golden ring
around your fourth finger

you smiled 

(i think the whole world 
lights up when 
you smile
by the way)

and as we drive down 
this road

i think about that smile
and all the smiles 
and tears and laughter and anger
i've seen since then

i will drive and drive and 
i will wait eagerly

to see that whatever comes
when you wake


for my parents, who have taught me that love requires dedication, patience and sacrifice, and that there are no limitations to what love can do. happy anniversary!



Tiny Story #140328

(silent house)

When I’m home alone, I think of how empty the house feels. I listen to the lawn mowers rumbling outside on the neighbors’ lawns and I listen to the wooshing sounds that cars make as they zoom down on our street.

I walk around each room, feeling the wood panels flex under my bare feet. I imagine my mother going about her day in this silent house.

I sit in our kitchen nook and imagine her standing near the island, writing a grocery list on a small note pad. She considers which pot she wants to use to make dinner, shifting them around in their drawer as they clang together like heavy bells.

I stand in front of our piano, plucking on key at a time in a C major scale. She has wanted to learn how to play for awhile now. I imagine her sitting on the black cushioned bench, squinting at the contents of Piano For Dummies. Her hands would hover over the white keys and then she’d slowly press a finger down for a note to sound.

I walk through the hallway, where all the doors to all the rooms are closed. I imagine hearing the crack of her slippers on the hardwood floors as she would enter hers and my father’s bedroom.

I imagine what I could do to fill up the silence.

I turn on the television, I turn on my music, I listen to Harry Potter audiobooks. I wait for someone to come home.

There are more stories at my website,! Thanks for reading.  

Rough, Rough Drafts | “Ode to Laundry Pile”


Here’s a rough, rough draft of something that’s been on my mind all week – laundry.  I’ve had a huge pile in my room since the holidays.  I set some time aside to do it this week, but every time I’ve checked our home’s washing machine, it’s been occupied.

I’ve also been itching to write something new and show it, even if it’s not perfect.  I’ve been working on some drafts of old short stories and working on some other stuff, so this blog has kind of gone by the wayside for the past two weeks.  There’s a draft I’m working on where the opening lines are just stumping me.

Drafts are never perfect, especially first drafts.  I can already see things I want to revise after I post, but I think I will always see things that I want to change, even if I get lucky enough to publish stuff.

So here’s to celebrating the rough, rough drafts and imperfection.

Ode to laundry pile

Monday, just a pair of underwear and a towel, slightly damp / Tuesday, my favorite jeans after a walk on the boardwalk / Wednesday, more underwear, more t-shirts, and a pair of socks / / It’s Sunday now and you’ve outgrown your laundry basket // I’m sorry – I’ll wash you soon.