Unfinished

They are just these little stuffed Christmas ornaments. Stars, angels, hearts that read “Peace.” And tonight, they tipped my anger, the anger that has, I guess, been sitting below my surface, buried in my crushed heart. Why did she not get to finish making...

A Room of Softness

There must be 500 yards of fabric in there. My friend says I’m exaggerating, which is possible, but I don’t think so. The closet is full, a card table is full, bins are full. The woman bought fabric. As her best friend said today, “She loved sales,...

You Poor Little Thing

“My mother has died.” . . . “Sacred Jesus.” Marie-Joseph crossed herself before taking Catherine’s hand in both hers. “You poor little thing.” Forty-nine years old, and that was exactly how Catherine felt. 36 years old and I...

Dad’s Nativity

He whittled it from some soft wood, probably pine, and then because Mom wanted one, he built a creche for it from a slightly darker wood. Tonight, as I sit in the near darkness of their living room, I can just see it in the place where Mom always put it atop the...

Dad's Nativity

He whittled it from some soft wood, probably pine, and then because Mom wanted one, he built a creche for it from a slightly darker wood. Tonight, as I sit in the near darkness of their living room, I can just see it in the place where Mom always put it atop the...