Dissociated Witness

I walk into the office, sit, and face my therapist. The books behind her chair are neatly arranged in their same places. We exchange our familiar greetings. I try to speak. Her face fades, and I see pink water dancing on broad palm leaves. Giggles from small children echo. I hear my wily brother. He…

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What It All Means

Snooze, snooze, snooze.  One week ago, four days ago, thirteen hours ago.  As the dampened street reflects an early Saturday morning shower, my email inbox sprinkles out reminders set from the past week. A musical playlist, a “must read again,” and “your story doesn’t end here” (thank you, God!) fill the subject lines of emails,…

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