Flattening Ebbinghaus’s Forgetting Curve
And now, days later, as I field my own self-initiated questions with no ready answers, I make a promise to myself to make my memories matter. To write.
JAKE
Jesus is in her bedroom
The girl wonders, not for the first time, whether she should tell Nonna about Him.
Teaching Anthony Bourdain to Eat Crawfish
a Poem
Saturday, 2018
THE BAYOU WHICH ISN’T VERY FULL RIGHT NOW / TRICKLING PAST REEKING LIKE GALVESTON WATER
This is where I'd end it
“This sucks,” I yell, and what I mean by “this” is everything.
Grandparent’s Day
Lucy might call it ironic, except, she doesn’t have a solid grasp on that term.
Atomic Pink Summer
We must strike while the iron is hot pink!