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Of All the Places….
of all the places, i remember it best. our house on the corner – suburban Miami circa 1970s: 3 bedrooms. long hallway. “florida” room. tall heater on the living room wall. a front porch for making mud pies. sunday dinners on the homemade table. jumping fish.…
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The Poetry We Live
I often stand at our fridge, looking at the dozens of words, all magnetized and waiting to be noticed, moved, and meshed into a poem or story. I wait to see what jumps out at me – combinations of words that take on a life of their own. A few months ago, four words stood…
