Non-Fiction Living

My father is dead.  I spend some time before he dies participating in a modern-day vigil. My sister texts me that our father is on hospice. ...

I’m not telling anyone I said. He nodded. Some things should be kept between two people he said. And for a time, that’s just what I did. I k...

I have no exoskeleton. I have no bottom underneath. I remind myself of the helpers. Right on cue, one appears. The man understands instantly...

The mother cradles the baby in white and yellow, green, black-gold, the sun rises warm red, a blue primrose nursery, newborn creatures tumbl...

Before you drop everything for the romance of the Pacific Crest Trail. Here’s a book about dirt and stink and calloused skin, of shriveled, ...

Two thousand eighteen turned into two thousand nineteen and even a small slice of two thousand twenty. His average concert attendance was pr...

It works its way under my clothes Traces my spine then spins around front  Finding every tiny paper cut and scrape Before pooling dark and s...