I finally found this poem I wrote years ago to my young son; he couldn't have been more than 3 years old at the time of my writing it. He's now almost a man (well, he's turning 18 soon ;) and I couldn't

In Maastricht I found myself last spring, walking the streets of Maastricht past crumbling city walls and churches-turned-nightclubs, on cobblestone, menacing crags to my thin boot heels not made for touring

Population Control North on Hwy 101 past the bustle of L.A., and Buellton’s famous pea soup, the small sign reads “Morro Bay, Population 10,000.” My past tugs and pulls me here. I drive to the beach, our

photo credit: Tuesday Morning On Tuesday morning I wait for his call and wait for the game to begin again with his tender voice, his velvety charm, fattening the pot, raising the stakes. I wait with my

In my early morning’s waking dream, I found myself with my husband and son, driving together along a formless mountain pass of leaves and rocks, too close to the high cliffs’ uncertain edge. Like the fragility