Shadows and Glimpses


December 2015


We’d lost touch with everything – our friends, our house, the length of his arms.  On tentative tiptoes, his fingers stretched, upending the blown glass float.  Crimson shards scattered as it shattered on the hardwood floor.  Another project for another day:  higher shelves.



Every faraway place pawns its beauty:  translucent jade, sculpted pewter, embroidered felt.  You’ve adorned me with treasures, thinking things matter.

This time, come home with nothing; just unpack your memories, clothe me in your journey’s tale, fold me into moments I missed.


My limbs flailed like a marionette’s, haphazard but precise on the batons. The bells chaotically announced daybreak, competitive siblings clamoring for attention.

In my twilight, silence surrounds me. I gaze at the belfry; the ring still reverberates inside me, my private reveille.


I stopped mid-gallop.  “Blame my dad.”  His booming baritone soared, a nightly ritual while drawing the tub.

Our bath is too narrow for bucking bronco rides.  Instead we circle the downstairs where my William Tell Overture wilts in the hallway’s unforgiving acoustics.

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