My Mom says she named me Amy because it means ‘beloved.' “I could’ve named you Laura,” she says. “Would you’ve liked that better? Laura?” Her arms rest slightly crossed, one hand holding the pipe in the air like a magic wand she might presto over my head at any moment. She‘s high enough to take… Continue reading Beloved

This is What the Trail Teaches Me:

Enjoy it now, it only gets harder, I think twenty, thirty times a day. The dusty ribbon of dirt I follow winds through dry, prickly plants intent on leaving faint tracks of blood along my shins as I pass by. Fist sized rocks appear, scattered on the trail as if spilled from some impetuous child’s toy box.… Continue reading This is What the Trail Teaches Me:

Mornings and Mom

Mom stopped participating in school mornings around first grade when we still lived in Boulder. One morning, I woke up groggy-eyed to find a note next to an empty bowl on the kitchen table. I’m not helping you get ready for school anymore, the note said. Fix your own hair. Make your own breakfast. Just… Continue reading Mornings and Mom

Slow Roll

We walk Nisa around the perimeter of the hotel, cajoling her into taking a poo, so we can sleep through the night without having to take her back out. Aaron dances about with the newly filled bag, and when he pretends to fling it at me, I say, "Slow your roll, dude." "What? Slow my… Continue reading Slow Roll