I had hoped that time’s passage would somehow reverse with my presence. I wanted to be her mother. But she was right. No going back. Time had ticked along, and life’s milestones had chimed without the clock’s voice.

What was left was the emptiness. And that was something.
— from "Still," Hippocampus Magazine
But what I’m left with is not a gift I take for granted. I have my daughter’s face next to me as I sleep. It changes in every new photo, her eyes like my mother’s, like mine, but with their own nuances, unexpected, miraculous.
— from "Womanhood"; Brain, Child Magazine
Time gets away from us all. It is too big for us. Time’s arms are out in space with Halley now, with the dust of our origin...
— from "Dust," Stoneboat Literary
My mother is still my hero. More than 50 years ago, she lost a fight. And she believed the part of her that her rapists took from her was lost for good. But I know better. The little girl who defended ole Cornball from Bobby Beard crawled into that ambulance with my wounded mother that July night in 1962. She stayed with her in the hospital. She went to the mysterious Carroll Hall with her. She went with her to Pa’s, stayed with her all the way through her first marriage to her second, through the too-few moments she had with me, and she stayed at her bed with her as she took her last breath. She still survives.
— from "My Mother's Secret"; Brain, Child Magazine