Haiku Stroke

I said “Dark Water” instead of “English Breakfast.” I couldn’t name Grace. I called her “the girl with the long red hair upstairs.” We called 9-1-1. The paramedics, warm and gentle, guessed my words. I tried to make sense. I stayed for three days in the hospital, my heart pounding, beat by beat… WHOOSH! Wild-fresh-crisp […]

Getting Old

I wandered from my second-floor office down to Fourth Street to indulge myself after a particularly difficult afternoon. Even though it was February, the afternoon sun blazed, the air was still, and the sidewalks were crowded with folks pretending it was spring. 


She first arrived at our front door when we lived in Albany at the top of the hill. Skinny and dark black, she looked like a Kenyan long-distance runner and seemed ageless. “Hi, I’m Wanda, your new housekeeper from Marvel Maids.”