The Weight of the Tide
There was a blue wool sweater, thick and smelling of cedar, that lived on the hook by the back door for seven years. It belonged to a man who no longer walks through that door, and when he left, he took the rhythm of his arrival with him. The…
Small Things That Stay
I spent an hour this morning trying to clear out my junk drawer. It is one of those tasks I have been putting off for months, mostly because I knew I would find things I had forgotten about. At the very back, tucked under a tangle of old charging…
The Dust of Yesterday
I remember my grandmother’s kitchen table, covered in a fine, white dusting of flour that always seemed to linger long after the bread was in the oven. She used to say that the mess was the best part of the memory. It was a temporary landscape,…