I sat alone and I cried.
Let me be honest, I cry more now that I’m in my 50s, still it’s worth noting that on an October Sunday afternoon in Easthampton, MA. 842 more words
“For the last time, I wasn’t going to hurt her.” The suspect looked pained, but Detective Grimm had seen the expression before. Often perps would display pain at being caught but dress it up as a kind of pleading indignation, as though they were hurt and frustrated that anyone could accuse them of wrongdoing. 549 more words
For William Stafford–the poet, not the pirate. A fellow Midwesterner and embedded West Coaster, a quiet of the land, who also inhabited the edges, evoked the nearby faraway, whose ‘job it was to find out what the world is trying to be.’ He was at home on earth and was up in trees ‘til the day he died. 155 more words