The butcher’s son stood behind the wooden block and bit his nails. A thin stream of sweat trickled down his forehead. Thud! His father heaved an unconscious goat on to… Read more »
The Micro-story-palooza continues! Yesterday’s prompt was “Love” (obviously!) Read on… And then she was born. Sonnets became lullabies, roses and chocolates gave way to diapers and bottles, long waits in… Read more »
He doesn’t do roses and chocolates, but he hands me the remote once the little one is asleep. **** Last month, The New York Times- Modern Love section called… Read more »
Everything happens for a reason. Taking in Moorish architecture in Cordoba might have been riveting to this history nerd, but not to my 3 year old, who just wanted to… Read more »
Another guard sits in his high tower like an angry demigod looking over his creation. A few women and children in their blue and white striped uniforms and shaved heads stare vacantly at us. Their eyes are like little broken windows. These children have probably seen more horrors in their tiny lifetimes than I’ve seen in my entire life.