This lapsed Catholic, lapsed Oregon native, is sometimes hungry for the ground. I pad my hand into the ashes of an old growth pine to paint a cross upon my forehead. Soft in my hand, a silken powder, there is dignity in the aroma of what these trees have become. Beside my hand print, I […]
Their wide, pregnant faces bowed low with seed, prophet heads, awaiting harvest.
From These Stones I A woman, alone, sits at her piano, alone on her seventy-fifth birthday. Her daughter will drive through the sandy-banked streets of Coronado Shores, to help her mother into the car, and drive to the ocean-side restaurant where her long-gone family is waiting. But for now, the woman sits alone with her […]