For my father – 1 Higher the swing rose as he pushed. My sister fell backward. He caught her. 2 Hands on the tiller, we steered, the boat heading home on the course he set. Jeanne Julian’s poems have appeared in Naugatuck River...
The Yesterday Today and Tomorrow Tree grew in the garden of our home in South Africa. It usually flowered for one season, purple and white blooms sending their perfume through my parents’ bedroom window. In the year my father died, it flowered beyond its time...
Photo Credit: www.archdavisdesigns.com Dad was more storyteller than mechanic, leaving his wartime occupation as soon as his tour ended. He was a Bible salesman when he met Mom, but before I was in preschool, my parents made a choice that was unusual for...
Mother, may I go to him, my brother slave to the needled beast Mother, may I love him the way you never did Mother, may I rest his broken heart at your feet Mother may you mend that heart, shattered and addled, for the weary lot of us...
The small high desert cemetery perched lonely and dry on a forgotten rise past the outskirts of a town that chose to grow in a different direction. The tombstone had reduced the lifetime of this woman’s struggles and joys to her name, dates, and one word—Mother. When...
