It’s us we dust not some distant rabbit fluff or forgotten flake of stranger. Our very mitochondria’s cast off about the sofa, table, chair our entire lair’s alive with microscopic leavings. It’s our breadcrumb trail back to time remembered or forgot. Small bits of days from childhood – nights of watching tiny satellites pass overhead-… Read More DUSTING


STILL Five a.m. The old house is still but for the hum of interstate. My ancient Scottie drowses on the bed. The puppy rests on pillows at its head. Elsa sleeps, blanket in hand, upstairs in her four poster. Her parents down the hall sleep on foam. The Airedale and poodle, little dog and big… Read More STILL