Down the stairs of my condominium and across Campus Drive I walk along Leona Canyon Open Space Preserve. In April and May, I canter past an expanse of wild radish
I’ve sworn off cubicle life sitting in front of a screen. Many emails mean I have to stay up late studying spreadsheets of a growing predicament, my destiny to telecommute, weekend from home. I’ve sworn off
Before the city had cut down pecan trees for the mall, before your brother was diagnosed with cancer, before the crazy woman moved into the fishing cabin, brown earth stretched
You wouldn’t think Walmart’s superstore had closed not far from the Oakland Airport on Hegenberger Road, the lot stayed full, fooled anyone who didn’t know how a high minimum wage had tossed Raiders
Memory Believes Before Knowing Remembers –William Faulkner Walk past wild radish and California golden poppies, beyond a pond lined in cattails and home to mallards, continue down a slope, an
I want to wake up each morning without remembering your voice, how we used to wrap around together in one invisible seam, a velcro from head to toe. I want