Welcome!

Lots of good stuff to share on the site! Make yourself at home; feel free to read, browse, comment, and enjoy! You can read my latest blog here.
To read a short story or two, please click here. 
I also have an eclectic collection of poems to share here.

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Featured Poem
I've been missing my mom. It's been a number of years since she passed from Alzheimer's. Towards the end, her condition necessitated moving her to a care facility. Soon after, she was unable to recognize me when I went to visit her. I always counted that as the 'first' time I lost her. A few months after that point, I had a dream about her. She always loved seeing relatives and having what she called, "a good visit." My dream prompted the following poem.

A Good Visit

Although dementia had ravaged her mind,
She came to me in a dream.
We sat across from each other,
On pure white benches,
Within a pure white room.


We talked and smiled and laughed,
And it all made sense.
Her voice was as kind and gentle,
As I always remembered it to be.


My heart filled to bursting,
Just to be with her again.


Looking over my shoulder,
I saw two dark-suited men,
Standing against a white wall.
Their arms folded across their chests,
Their faces stern, eyes unblinking.


I turned back to her,
And she smiled shyly,
Her eyes as inquisitive as a child’s,
A look of wonder at why I wondered,
At the purpose of the men.


Her smile stopped.
Her brows furrowed,
In the ultimate understanding,
We all will face.
She slumped slowly forward,
And I caught her, easing her to the floor,
Reminded of her stroke,
In the middle of the grocery store,
And how embarrassed and apologetic she had been.


I did not want her to feel that shame now.


I held her in my arms then,
For the final time.
I gently brushed her hair to the side,
And tried to smile, to stay strong.


“Come with me,” she whispered.
“There’s something I want you to see.”


“I can’t go Mom.” And my tears fell,
As I held her tight.
“And I don’t want you to go. Not yet.
Not ever.”


“Come with me,” she whispered.


And the bright white of the room grew,
Blinding and engulfing all.
 
I awoke, cheeks wet,
My heart torn once again.
It was the second of three times,
I would lose her that year.


                                                                 --William Martin

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