Tuesday, October 11, 2016


Nights have been hard. I used to be afraid of the dark, as I’m sure most people were, but I’ve never known anyone to be so terrified by the shadowed black as my beautiful boy Milo. In the late hours the boy would wake in a panic, screaming through the thin walls, waking everyone up. I hated those nights. He would be lost in a nocturnal horror, and I would be filled with anger. I’d yell and I’d spank, but nothing changed. This went on for years until we moved into the city. Things were better then. He’d lay in bed at night, staring out his window into the geometric city sky filled with blocks and angles of walls and roofs, burning with the wonderful warm glow of ambient light. It was never dark in the city. There was always an office light left on, or a street lamp below buzzing with the electric appearance of a circuit board. There was so much wonder and peace within the shards of orange glow that rested on his face that he always fell fast asleep. 

Months had stacked when I became aware that Milo had been sleeping a lot, not only at night, but during the day as well. I should have noticed sooner. A high fever had boiled the strength out of him. The young boy found himself staring endlessly into the moving world outside the glass, unable to be a part of it. I kept thinking the fever would pass, letting the hours turn into days. It wasn’t until Milo began coughing flem and blood that I fully realized something was wrong. I rushed him to the ER. It was bacterial meningitis. He didn’t have long. I stayed with him, holding his hand all night long. He begged for the light to stay on, and I obliged. As long as the light was on he was at peace.

“Just don’t let it go dark.” He requested of me.

“I’ll keep the light on for you. I promise.” I assured him, with a tight squeezing of his hand. And I did.

Sometime just before dawn, Milo’s body softened and relaxed indefinitely. He was only 7.

“Was”. That damn word “was”. I should be used to “was” by now. I’ve made peace with all the things I’ve had to put behind me. I was a student, I was the fastest kid on the soccer fields, I was a husband. I’ve been a lot of things that “was”, but I never thought I’d have to say “I was a father”. Horrible that life should even consider the title an option to remove. I know I’m no longer a student or the fastest on the field. I shouldn’t be anyways. But “daddy”, daddy is a word I doubt I’ll ever give up. I was a father... I am a daddy even though it doesn’t feel like it anymore.

Nights have been hard. I think about those late hours I’d argue with him to return to his bed, crying, desperate, afraid. I’d spank him and yell. So much regret. I desired so much to have a bed to myself, to sleep just one night without interruption; now I have nothing but restless peace. Two empty beds and one tired man pacing, waiting for the dream to end. My dear boy. I miss you. 

I replay his words in my head. “Just don’t let it go dark.” He requested of me. 

“I’ll keep the light on for you. I promise.” I will, Milo.

Wherever my son is, he wouldn’t have to be afraid of the dark. I’d leave a light on for him. Always on. I promise.

The Narrow

Absolutely no one knew that inside the house, underneath the creaking floorboards, crawled a thin and spidery creature known as the Narrow.

Thin creature,  by  Derrick86
It’s long wispy white limbs bend and fold like sticks as it emerges in Evelyn’s moonlit room.  

The kind hearted Evelyn, beautiful in her youth, sleeps peacefully beneath the blanket that hardly bends under the Narrow’s light body, and is unaware that she is being watched by large black eyes.

The Narrow stares and waits, sharing the bed in the comforting presence of a warm bodied friend, with plans to leave before the blue morning light wakes Evelyn up.

(A friend gave a writing prompt for a four sentence story about something peculiar.)

Tuesday, September 13, 2016



Something cool brewed in the thick gray clouds. Specks of dust swallowed in a liquid shell swelled with great weight until one by one each fell. And suddenly it began raining. Logan didn’t like the rain. It wasn’t the dampness but the sudden and radical change that turned everything over. The air pressure rose and dropped, the temperature cooled, the light receded, and all the sounds of nature were replaced with the static crash of an army of drops.  It was all too aggravating for a child of great structure, like Logan, who became overwhelmed by such change.

Like most rainy days, Logan stayed in and watched TV with his headphones on under his heavy blanket to ignore the blatant defiance of nature. But today was different. Today was Logan’s brother Lucas' birthday. All morning while Lucas was out, Logan had been setting up ribbons and banners to prepare for the evening of singing and eating cake . As hard as Logan tried his best to block out the rain, the promise and excitement of a birthday party was ever present in the corner of his eye, holding his focus where he didn’t want it. All Logan could think about was how the rain would ruin his older brother’s party. Frustrated, Logan began to chant “Rain rain go away, come again another day.”

The rain continued to tap the roof more loudly than before. Logan continued chanting, this time a little louder. “Rain rain go away, come again another day.”

The wind shook the house with playfulness, but Logan didn’t want to play. Instead his frustration grew ever stronger, loudly singing  “Rain rain go away, come again another day.”

It was then that a bold wind pushed in the door. Logan pulled off his headphones and yelled “GO AWAY RAIN!”

As he shouted, the bold wind took hold of the balloons and pulled them out into the open world. Lucas couldn’t come home to a party without balloons. Logan wanted to yell. He wanted to cry and break things. But most of all, he wanted to get those balloons back.

The boy rushed out the door and chased his brother’s balloons, grabbing hold of the group of strings before being lifted up into the clouds. His feet dangled above the rooftops as he ascended higher and higher, until all at once he stopped.

Somewhere beyond those thick gray clouds, above the rain, the balloons became caught in a net.  It wasn’t just Lucas’s birthday balloons either. Thousands of balloons had been taken up into the sky and held on the opposite side of the cloud. Each balloon was  unique and wonderful, with it’s own special color. Logan could hardly contain the rush of excitement at the sight of something so wonderful. He wanted to touch them and to find a place to keep them all.

Before he could even devise a plan, he began sorting the balloons. Diligently the bright boy worked, putting his favorite colors red and purple on the ends and green in the middle; making sure even the oranges, yellows, and blues had their place. Everything had it's place within the wonderful spectrum.  He continued to stack the balloons downward, creating a path back to the surface of the earth far below him. Balloon after balloon, stack after stack, the rows of colorful bodies bowed until finally reaching Logan’s home. The rain had all but settled, and the light gleamed off the mist suspended in the air. Logan looked up at his work and smiled with satisfaction that he created a rainbow for his older brother. It was truly something worth celebrating.



Not too far from Atherstine’s little house on her little street, is a little field lined with stones and flowers. Every day after school, the long yellow bus would drop Atherstine off and she would walk through the field of stones and flowers to make her way home. All the stones have different shapes and different names but Atherstine liked Eugene the most. The stone was heavy and strong and unlike the other stones, Eugene would speak to Atherstine. So,  as she passed through, Atherstine made a point to walk by Eugene and give flowers she picked up.


“Good afternoon! These are for you.” Atherstine smiled.


“Good afternoon, Atherstine. Thank you very much.” Eugene responded. “How was school?”


“It was fine.”


“Only fine?”


“Well, I got in trouble because Becky and Lindsey were passing notes and  Ms. September caught me trying to read them. I had to sit by myself during lunch and wasn’t allowed to play during recess.”


“I see. Did the other girls get in trouble?”


“No. Ms. September didn’t know who wrote the notes and I wasn’t going to tell. Becky and Lindsey are my friends.”


“Good for you. It takes a strong person to protect their friends.”


 Atherstine lay on the ground next to the stone and stared up at the big puffy clouds, layering in such a way as to show the infinite depth of the bright blue sky. A soft breeze pushed the grass on the field and swept over the girl and the stone with a slight whistle.


“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Atherstine smiled.


“Oh yes. Quite beautiful.” It was a beautiful day


“Do you know what’s up there?”


 “Rain.” Eugene answered kindly.


“You think?”


“Yes. I’m nearly certain of it.” Just then a large drop of rain fell right on Atherstine’s hand.  She looked into the bright blue sky, curious which puffy cloud the rain could have fallen from .


“You should probably go home.” Eugene urged the girl.


“Okay.” Atherstine said, dusting the lose grass and dirt from her dress. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”


“I’ll be waiting.” Eugene whispered affectionately.


Atherstine skipped a bit before stopping suddenly to rush back to the stone to ask, “Can I take you home with me?”


“I’m sorry  but I have to stay here. But you can visit me anytime you’d like.”


 “Okay. And you’ll always talk to me, right?”


“You’re growing up, Atherstine. One day you’ll forget about me and I wont be able to talk to you anymore.”


“That’s not true. I’ll never forget.”


“You will, and it’s okay. But I promise, I’ll always be right here, waiting to listen to you any time, day or night.”


“No matter what?”


“No matter what!”


The girl looked down sadly, thinking about the day she won’t be able to listen to the talking stone’s kind words.  “I miss you, Grandpa.”


“I miss you too, my little apple.”


Atherstine ran home to avoid the rain, and the talking stone waited there, just like he said he would.

Thursday, September 8, 2016


I have no face of my own.
Instead, I wear many faces;
Even yours.
Can you see it?

I am transparent.
I am reversed.

Nothing is as it seems.

There’s something underneath.
Something that prevents you from looking right through me.

Something that stares back.
I expose all.

I’m fixed…
I’m fragile...
I’m cold.
Can you see it?

To hate me is to hate yourself.
Strike me and I explode.

Dangerous in fractured rage.
Ever watching.

Thursday, August 25, 2016


You are my moonshine.

Cold and intoxicating.

Your soft glow is clothed in stripped darkness.

Your midnight hair flows like silk as one thousand black lashes veil your eyes in gothic lace.

You are strong, challenging, and unobtainably beautiful.

There can never be enough of you.


A love poem I wrote for my bride October 2013.

If I could only reason
To see what I could see,
To learn what I could learn,
To be what I could be.

I might have taken chances,
Found new worlds to explore,
To love her and be loved
Cherished and adored.
Letters would be sent
To: By: Two they’d be penned
Two byes too they’d be signed
Sincerely yours, truest love of mine.