My Father’s Hands (nonfiction)

In my memory, my father’s hands are large. His sturdy fingers, the columns that hold up the Parthenon roof, the pillars that secure the world on the turtle’s back, that hold me as I swing between him and my mother when we walk down the street together. His palms span wide enough to encompass mine, […]

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How to make an espresso

How to make an espresso: Not really about making coffee.

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Ghosts of Christmases Past

Written for YeahWrite#401 Nonfiction: My dead are always hanging around, but especially so at Christmas.

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