I leave my apartment and cross the street where wild turkeys flaunt a purplish-black sheen, in a canyon where coyotes can tease off-leash dogs to their oblivion—former habitat of the Jalquin/Irquin tribe, members
He scared me that mole in the middle of his forehead a large puddle I didn’t want to fall into He stared from across our kindergarten desks anytimehe turned away from the blackboard
The night you tore up rose bushesfrom the front yard of my rental cottage,an ambulance came and took you to Highland Hospital’spsych ward where I watched a cigarette burn betweenyour
(Downstage right, a woman typing at a laptop with the words displayed on a screen for the audience to read. Her back is to the audience. Downstage left, a second
Sunday hike along the canyon, but not the morningyou returned from your journey interrupted,came back and rearranged my apartment. I let you do it— the mahogany table, a shared relic
After my daughter was born, my psychic friend determined that Arianna was the reincarnation of my mother, a woman who’d been brought up Catholic and didn’t believe in sex before
I invite you to my website.