I think of that day every time I ride the LRT and remember those conversations when I walk through a station. I notice what would probably be only a blur if we hadn’t taken that time to be curious, if each piece was not now invested with the memory of the voices of friends.
Home as kitchen utensil
This poem came from prompt to compare two random things...
Swing Bridge
We tend to think of bridges as connectors, but in this poem, the bridge is about loss.
Kindness
I've been experimenting with non-poetic forms lately, including flash fiction, like this 171-word story.