The Potter Written as a tribute to Bernard Spitz, beloved long-time member of the Unitarian Society of Ridgewood, who died last winter. He had a potter’s hands, smooth as the lip of a pot spun so long that the grit is worn away, clay turning to glass. His thumbs long...
She had a glass eye from a beating she had taken when her husband lost his job at the foundry. Who could blame him, really? He couldn’t have known that the punch would land so precisely or that his pinky ring would be so ruinous. By the time her neighbor took her to...
Come To Me: A Mother Watches Her Daughter Cross the English Channel “Come to me,” I urged, scuttling back and forth along the narrow edge of the deck, signaling over and over to my daughter where she should be. Charlotte had been in the water 17 hours by then. She had...
Thank you for visiting my new website! I'll be posting published stories, essays and poems, as well as blogging about my book manuscript-in-progress, The Orphans' Wheel.