Travels are her life. North to South, East to West. When are you coming home they asked. And she wondered, where is home? Here, never there.
Shrill aunts doting, impersonal gifts, competitive quilts, insincere delight, ridiculous games, stale cake, punch: everything I can’t have.
She was sick of show-and-tells about dreamcatchers where most girls in the back would snicker at her. Yet someone needed her for her warmth.
The smiling eyes of his great-grandson renewed his strength. He happily choked out “I do” to the man of his dreams.
After thirty years of marriage, your “yes” sounds fresh every night. But I don’t even have to ask. “Grateful” is not a word. It’s breathing.
Christmas music fills the air. The elf frolics and dances to happy applause, but she’s not happy. The men drool, and the metal pole is cold.