May 5, 2012 is a word problem. I’ve been divorced 1,276 days (or 3 years, 5 months, and 29 days).

Echoes I searched distantly familiar rooms in the dark. Reaching blindly, but pulling and grasping nonetheless. Two days before what...

It’s been ten years since we last spoke. Ten years since Mom died, the last of our parents and grandparents.

A catalog (incomplete) of recent tattoos

My son is two years old today. I pick up Elmo balloons from the party store. I bake cupcakes and poke in toothpicks topped with Elmo’s face.

Ten years ago today: I was forty-four when my husband Bill left me for a twenty-nine-year-old. Our only child Ben was eleven.

My father died shoveling mulch out of the back of his truck. I think officially he died from a clot that split open his jugular.

It’s a bright, Colorado winter’s day. The Ponderosa pine trees that line my back fence are half the size they are now, their branches...

I was watching the sun rise for the first time in my life. I had grown up in Utah, where the Wasatch Mountains tower over the eastern...

They say 40 is a big one. The threshold of middle age? Maybe, if we’re lucky...