Writer
Frozen-finger claw reaches from my hands blisters where I hold too tightly scraping at the surface of things dragging away death— remnants of things once green I try not to disturb what lives. Overhead, the wind loosens the hold of a hundred leaves. They rain down, no more attachment left, surrendered to the soil, sacrifices... Continue Reading →
We packed your bag today. I told you the stories of when I went to where you are going now. The deep, dark woods of life. I told you about the night I got cold and hungry and found a bears' house to sleep. About the time your uncle and I left breadcrumbs to the... Continue Reading →
We packed your bag today. I told you the stories of when I went to where you are going now. The deep, dark woods of life. I told you about the night I got cold and hungry and found a bears' house to sleep. About the time your uncle and I left breadcrumbs to the... Continue Reading →
C. Dawn McCallum 