I wonder what I could do
if I believed I could . . .
There’s a fruit fly in my coffee
and I get taken back
to my very first poem
that I posted on this blog
about a fruit fly
that was swimming in my wine.
Now,
two years later,
and I’ve written and published
a novel
and over 700 poems and short stories.
And all because
that little fruit fly
told me before he died
that I needed to try.
And also,
because
I must’ve
believed I could.
-C.H.
I close my eyes And she comes to see me My mermaid sage appears On my ceiling A swirling green mist follows her She waves at me to follow her I shake my head “No,” I say “I am comfortable here.” She s
She told me that she had been sober for 6 months before Thanksgiving with her family. Apparently she got blackout drunk. “Understandable,” I said. “My family is the reason I drink so much around the h
A few years ago, there was rattling noise coming from one of the wheels on my car. I took it into the shop, and a man handed me a bunch of bolts and nuts, and things that I had no idea what they were.
