Her Hands

She holds her thumbs inside each fist to hide the scabby nubs.  The moist environment of her hands squeezed tight hosts the spread of the tiny warts that bubble tentatively alongside her nail bed and lower lip.  Her hands always seem to be in need of a wash; dirt and paint hide wherever they can …

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The Great Escape

I tried to run away today. My daughter sat on my bed and watched me pack. She told me it was probably a good idea for me to leave since I seemed so upset. This sort of hurt my feelings, but then she added, “This is how I felt last night, I understand” and I …

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Teen Beat

  At the peak, there were two US Postal bins of letters stacked on my porch every day for a week.  It peaked and waned - but I was getting letters for years after I posted the ad in Teen Beat's penpal section. At twelve years old, I was writing a wide variety of people from all …

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The Downstairs Den

The black sectional couch in our den would squeak and groan as you tried to get comfortable; you'd sink too fast into the cold pleather cushions. The Charlie Brown afghan,  with chevron stripes of brown, orange and yellow, rarely left it's spot draped on the back of the couch (unless it was being thrown over …

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