Blue flowers open near the cement pathway and she walks down porch steps. The sky is lovely as she breathes in and walks to the car. She has books to read and lesson plans to prepare for her first classes in the fall. Before she leaves, she looks up to see birds flying from the…

She ran past the weathered houses, fenced gardens, and crying dogs. Air escaped from her throat, and it was hard to breathe. As her legs teared with sweat, her eyes saw water running through a canal. She picked up a rock, threw it at her reflection, and shattered the water. In the water, pieces of…

In album pages, I look at thirty-year-old photos— a skinny girl with short black hair parted to the side with a pin securely placed by her mother. Her eyes hold personality, joy, and unknowing. I place my finger on a photo holding the girl’s hand glad that the camera saved her eyes when time did…

Voices from book pages let me forget the daily noise so I embrace words as the pages exhale. Time does not matter when I relate to aches and delights. Somehow everything is bearable one page at a time.

What Will Become of Them? A woman caught the girl’s smile when she held gardenia for the first time. At two o’clock, the wind exhaled as summer cooled under the mango tree. What will become of them— a mother, a daughter. Time seeping through their skins until they are pulled back to the starting place…

The Next Life She heard prayers and saw her husband make sandwiches, drive to work, and pay bills. She watched her child write alphabet letters, pick up stones on the sidewalk, and run in their yard. She looks out waiting for arrivals— a husband, a daughter. All returning discussing delights and risks after years of…