past
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Trauma is an unfinished business. That’s what Dr. Perry says.
My past sometimes feels like clouds. Not the white, billowing kind but the dark, blankety ones. These hang oppressively above me, blocking out the sun and making me feel like taking a long nap. Of course, this is the kind of sky that no one can see. Not even me. They are the kind one Continue reading
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in the rooms living
down the hall laughter rings bouncing off of walls dipping underneath archways coming my way in the next room voices deep in that room little ones are arguing she pleads her case while she stands her ground the water running in that sink sings along to the tune from that pocket the twang hums the Continue reading
All the grace 