But no urns

Mid-morning naps by the window with my hands clasped. The clocks and dog beside me, clouds kneading the sun. This is the way they’d try to make me look, peaceful and serene, flowers by the entryway, a boxful of tissues,… Read More ›

That last Christmas in Cork

We’d sit out there in the late afternoons as dusk came on and the thin windows beaded up with condensation, forming jeweled patterns in the corners. With the glow of the lights and the heater it felt cozy, like looking out from the inside of a gingerbread house.