MemoirI am not pitying myself, because I chose it. Evidently this is the way it has to be. I am committed. It is a question of writing or not writing. There is no other way. If there is, I missed it. Mavis...

PoetryAnd I know now, about the birds – their Latin name, theirpopulation and international distribution. I know their migratory patterns and have watched footage of them inflight; could write about the slow, irregular beat of wing or shrillness of call, but...

FictionIT FEELS GOOD to have the sun on him. To press his body into the sand, the hot wind across his bare skin finally drying out the open sores across his back, and across the backs of his arms...

GR OnlineTHESE DAYS I only ever see her at funerals. Which is more often than one might reasonably expect, our little set practically toppling in on top of one another before anyone's had a chance to unwrap the Merric Boyd...