Consider your teachers and education staff around the nation, and say, "thank you."
Category: Child loss
Dreams for My Children: a Poem for Corrie and Her Brother
In a dream, I heard her laughter. She bounced on the bed I could feel her arms around me, and see her curls wrap around her face. As always, her hair flew unkempt, unbrushed as if she'd just read Where the Wild Things Are. I'd laugh and tell her, "She was one of the the… Continue reading Dreams for My Children: a Poem for Corrie and Her Brother
A Corrie Poem: Books I Never Wanted
There are books I never wanted, and books I never read. There are words I wish I'd written, and words I never knew. Somehow every story leads me back to you. It ended as a story that I never wanted from a book I never knew. By R.A. Bridges
All the Policies: a Corrie Poem
I know all about the policies:the i's to dot, and cross the t's.I remember well the call from finance about the bill for theambulance.I was not about to payin the aftermathof my daughter's deathwhen she died on that ambulance.It's enough I keep myself alivewhen all I've wished is togive up and die.But still here I… Continue reading All the Policies: a Corrie Poem
In Every Gold, Bright Orange, and Russet Leaf: a Reflection of Autumn in Corrie’s Poems
I felt Corrie in every gold, bright orange, and russet leaf. Six minus one is five, and at sixteen, we seldom realize destinies are nothing more than beautiful orange and yellow leaves cleaving to branches in late October before they fall in a river bank. Sweet sixteen, like fairy tales with happy endings, are inventions of commercials and ads to buy disco balls and dresses.
Orange, Gold and Mahogany: a Corrie Poem
The oak leaves change from green to orange, gold and mahogany, and the pines remain evergreen. On such drives, when you allow, the sun steals you away to places where people say, "shall" and "thine" and in a glade ...
Novel Excerpt Finalist
"She’d place vases of flowers at the spots on the table where Lera’s sisters, mostly older and out of the house, had sat."
My Son’s Middle School Season
Seasons are not only those times of year when red, orange, and brown colors tinge leaves on the trees, but the changes we face for which we are never prepared.
I Wanted: A Poem for my Son
There are man things I wanted, but the storms came to pass.
Of Lighthouses and Mermaids, a Corrie Poem
Storms wash away paint on the lighthouse, and there's no repair.