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pens and pencils

I haven’t written with a pencil in a while, and I forgot about the way the dulling of the point changes the visual of the handwriting.  I used pencils until college. In kindergarten, I used the fat, yellow Ticonderoga #2 pencils. Perfect for little hands to learn to grip as I traced dotted letters. When… Continue reading pens and pencils

field of sweetgrass

There’s an overgrown field of sweetgrass behind Georgia’s childhood home. When it gets cold out, the sweetgrass dries and rough leaves make small cuts on young fingers. Georgia used to go out at dusk and hold a piece under her nose, inhaling as much as she could before her lungs were filled to the brim.… Continue reading field of sweetgrass

poems from april

My creative writing class naturally had a creative writing unit. I have mixed feelings about poetry. There are many rules that are “meant to be broken” which blur the lines of quality. If anything is allowed, what makes a poem good or bad? I always feel like I’m doing a good job, and that feels… Continue reading poems from april

on the way

The phone rang irritably on Marilyn’s bedside table. On its third ring, she considered that whoever was on the other end of the line might have something important to offer like a publishing deal or congratulations for a sweepstakes win. She read Peter’s name on the screen and decided that, while he couldn’t possibly provide… Continue reading on the way

time enough at last

Ellorah stepped inside the office and informed the secretary of her appointment. The woman gave her a numbered ticket and told her to take a seat in the mostly-vacant waiting room. She found an unmarked, plastic-covered chair and sat down until her number appeared on the screen above the reception desk. A voice over the… Continue reading time enough at last

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