Let Me Be Myself

This was the result of a creative writing exercise I did while attending a conference in Amsterdam this April.  It all points to identity and the things we desire if we could just drop the social pretense and requirements and be ourselves. Let me wear jeans for professional dress. Don’t teachers teach better in jeans?…

The Smallness of Us

There are these moments when I picture myself benevolently aged, a bittersweet smile of the past playing about the crow-footed corners of my eyes.  What I wouldn’t give to have a conversation with her.  The woman who weathered storms.  The woman who brought storms.   What would she think of me with my self-pity and…

Shipwrecked

These words were actually written a month ago. Not a lot has changed, but at least I’m writing again. Each day I do in exercise in self-loathing.  I turn on the shower as hot as I can stand it.  I disrobe and step into the billowing steam.  The water flushes my skin scarlet with anger,…

I am

the taste of vanilla melting into a concoction of pecans and bliss on Thanksgiving when the warmth of family is rising like homemade bread. The laughter plumes into the air, and I smell the stale cigarettes on my Mother’s hands as she kneads the dough  – their strength molding my world. A twinkle of teeth…

Star Stuff

This is a notion I’ve heard many times before but which didn’t fully realize until I shared the room with individuals from all over the world: Hungary, Croatia, the Netherlands, and Italy. The full gravity of it hit me when a Syrian refugee and educator shared stories of how she would play music for her…

Nature Walk

I went on a nature walk with my creative writing students a few weeks ago.  A week of lazy afternoon suns had warmed up the little bit of winter we received here in Texas, and Spring was vividly pulsing through the air.  The Texas mountain laurel had just put on their blooms, and the smell…

Elise Lifting the Sun

“What if hearts were made of waffles?” Elise mused, her pigtails bobbing slightly as syrup from the bottle pooled on her plate and drizzled over the side from the unsteadiness of hands not quite as big as the questions she posed. “Well, then love would be as deliciously sweet as you are,” I replied, dipping…