From the center of an old rotted stump, two pines were stretching their slender bodies upward. Daughters, probably, of this dying Mother...

"What is the soul?" Asks the poet. And I— What is love? All this fanciful talk of it. The fairytales— Wild romance— Promises— A lifetime....

My hair is curly now. I’ve been told it’s probably from the kids— That your hair changes nearly every 7 years. So suddenly it transformed...

She wakes moments before the baby. The night is still, Silent. She peels back the covers And begins The barefooted dance Through the...