The hospice smells too clean. Nurses wheel around heavy carts of grief. The immensity of our love makes us ill with sadness. How imposing that …
The Only Thing That Doesn’t Leave by Rowena Taylor
Riding the train home at 8 AM, diffused light stings. I squint past my own reflection to a view I love in the morning. But …
How to Say I Love You by Rowena Taylor
I pace the aging dock, its wood groaning in the shallow water. My summer- browned legs quiver at the thought of walking the plank. I …