She eyed me, the girl, trailing behind her family, the mother and the father leading the pack, her younger siblings in the middle, and she, the oldest just like me, with searching eyes and mischief in her movements.
She eyed me, the girl, trailing behind her family, the mother and the father leading the pack, her younger siblings in the middle, and she, the oldest just like me, with searching eyes and mischief in her movements.
Suddenly, the composition book flew out the window, landing on a busy Detroit highway's cloverleaf ramp.
Here lies an old Catholic church in Amish Country, where the graves are written in French, lined up around a ravaged Christ taller than the church next door.
I'm sitting on the couch with a bucket, slowly writing down my preferences for funeral music so my family won't have to decide.
My last delicate nerve frayed, I ignite an ill-timed confrontation, and we stand in aching tension, anticipating the distance.
I’m in a mall and there are babies everywhere.
People face the wrong way, not conforming to the pre-set maze. Staff fume, rearranging and controlling us.
At David and Faith's wedding, I was heavily pregnant and my blood pressure was dropping.
We could primal scream right here, Natalie said.
Mira in love is better than Mira in tears, I realised too late.
We will fly back home this evening, but now we are still in southern Gran Canaria, looking to the east, sitting on a bench on the deserted promenade.
Our youngest is marrying tomorrow; yesterday the last of my hair fell out, victim of my first chemotherapy treatment.
I hear the nurse gasp quietly and I crane my neck up, following her eyes across the entryway.
She withheld a cupcake from each child, asking, "What do you say?"
The hospital smells fill my nostrils as emergency room personnel rush from one area to another.
I passed the interview. Jade was next. I turned my hands into fists, hoping our practice helped.
Our hands melt together walking the dashed yellow line, wondering who is leading who, when I trip up the curb of Lincoln Ave.
I’m walking in Père Lachaise Cemetery.
I start picking, and I’m picking, leaning in close, climbing the sink, eye-to-eye with myself.
On my projector screen, I Googled “new dictionary words 2016,” clicked the first hit, and resumed my spiel.