Last week a 6-year-old Alabama boy is murdered in the backseat of his Mother’s stolen car. Yesterday a home-made bomb maims and kills over twenty people. From the cozy interior of my Utah home life hasn’t changed. But it has. It does. The weight of life’s seemingly endless cruelty and senselessness can be together all… Continue reading How We Cope
Rows upon rows of sunflowers, my Papa’s favorite. It seemed no matter which direction we turned we were welcomed with more sunflowers. We no longer needed to look at our watches to keep time, the sunflowers did it for us.
Sometimes in our little community we could lose where one of us ended and the other began. We, in some ways, just melted into each other.
The ground floor was occupied by a fish market. My shoes often smelled of fish water, but I couldn’t be bothered. We lived on the second floor, my roommate and I, with whom I had a falling out weeks before our return to the states, never to be reconciled. Something to do with her not liking my boyfriend.