The loom on which I weave these threads is more foreboding than machinery These fibers neither silken nor wool, cottoned from misadventures, miscommunications, and inner
Love, Like Shoes
If searching for love was like shopping for shoes, I’d fixate on the simplest of finds, choosing practicality over fashion flair. My preference is for
A One-and-Only Picnic
Picnicking with mother happened only once – The summer’s day a perfect pitch of bright, the breeze a welcome companion Laid our cloth atop rickety
What Lies Ahead
What lies ahead, when pain has clouded the past and fear is choking the present? Is it possible to glimpse the future without projection, without
Brawn’s Bliss
Physical prowess a weighty goal – bliss delayed by self-punishment. (Written for RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Poetry Challenge: brawn/bliss)
A Convertible Summer
Summer of ‘67 the British had invaded and Canada celebrated 100 years of confederation – and Dad, at the top of his game, came home
