hall of mirrors

I picture myself in a hall of mirrors. My reflection repeated infinitely until imperceptible. Until there's only darkness. And each of the me's I see are different. They're the past ones. Each reflection bounces younger and younger as they get smaller and smaller. Each one is farther and further away from the present. They don't … Continue reading hall of mirrors


Grandmother H rarely sat at the table with us for dinner. Perhaps because her back was bent so badly with arthritis, or perhaps because she had long grown accustomed to having her meals at ground level. She had a tray to herself, bowls of dipping sauces, rice, soup, single-servings of whatever my parents and my … Continue reading eating

a true love

Some--many of my fondest memories involve water. Rain, especially. There was a day when it was pouring. I was at the Bellflower house. After school. The rain fell hard and I stood looking at it through the glass doors of the dark living room. I was alone in the house. I watched the rain flow … Continue reading a true love