Small Gems of Irritated Hope

I seem to have a fascination with pearls. Not in real life so much as in a symbolic way–they keep popping up in…

Benediction

She walks on wounded feet, carries white roses to the willow by the pond on the hill: three roses, the number of those…

On the nights when God is silent, she curls up against the dark, her breath a thorn embedded in her throat. At last, all the…