"Skate babies," he said cryptically. "Protects them from all the dangers." He flapped a leathery arm towards the snack bar and drawled something about signs.

The Future Carries Us Forward to Winter

You stand in the hall poking at the window blinds. They’re old vinyl, faded yellow and nearly melted with years of endless sun. Your fingers walk to eye-level, push a slat up so you can see out, and then climb higher. Above your head you reach to press your finger, through the hole of a bent, half-broken slat, all the way to the fogged glass.


The photo album is dry like carefully stored tinder, the dried rose petals haphazardly stuck on the front look yellowed and frail.

Desk Lunch

She skitters away on her keyboard: Tic tac tac tac tic. Then pauses to scratch her head; the noise a cacophony, forming a symphony of disturbance that rattles my loaded head. Every day she rattles me.


The night of my parents’ funeral, she told me that the most important thing you can tell people, dead or alive, is that you are here. On this earth.