Fiction

“I’m not clear whose story this is . . .”

Would she remember that birds once sang to us every morning, or would this become legend, a memory from some long-ago time when magical flying creatures sang as the sun came up?

I wanted to watch a thing fall because of something I did.

Life as a single mom could be hard, but … there are always hugs.

I am going to forget this, the most exquisite moments of my life.

Mama, alone is …

“What if I can’t do this?” she’d said, finally giving voice to a fear that had crept in sometime during her second trimester.

She’s unsure what to do next, where the growing up and getting ready prelude to her life will lead.

I present my open palm, full of miniature marvels. I’m attempting to force him into a better mood. Trying to will him into the perfect Ken […] in the dream house of our own making.

One can’t hold onto something that is not theirs to hold for long.

I thought it would feel freer out in the field, outside of the trapped air of the car. I’d hoped that whatever had been crushing me all those nights would rise up and pop like a balloon.