My hands

My handstouch hiscalloused, dry, icy ones, eyes peering past me. I can see,for just a moment, into his soul, but more sointo mine.  Dirty and dark. I had wantedcoffee and a candy bar. Money I had setaside. Do I know sacrifice?Here is your paper. It reads"How to Handle having HIV." I toss it on the floorboard,this …

Composition

I blame my uncanny love of book stores on my mother. "Smell the books," she'd say to me. "Feel the pages." To her, the words and characters were real. Something to hold on to. Some hidden truth to pursue, unveil, and appreciate. And so, like most little girls, I wanted to do what Mother did. …

Muffin Monday

The house is empty this morning. A silent sanctuary for my thoughts. I am blessed enough to be able to stand barefoot in my kitchen and bake. Toes freeze against the cold, tile floor. Etta James provides a melody to which my hips sway. I am reflecting on a period of my life that has come and …