We lost my grandfather to Alzheimer’s Disease five years ago. Today is his birthday.
Honestly, I’m still processing his loss and how his leaving changed my family forever (not necessarily for the better). This poem is far from my best work, but it’s honest. It’s what I have right now.
I was honored to have a piece published over at youareherestories.com today. If you haven’t checked out this site before, go! There is new writing posted almost daily from six staff writers plus lowly guests like myself. And every single article has to do with the topic of place in all its various forms and fashions.
Florida has two seasons: summer and January. And flip flops can (and should) be worn during both.
Cradled between the Atlantic Ocean and its more laidback cousin, the Gulf of Mexico, it quietly putters along while the states above it tromp through seasons and mark time in the usual fashion. Like Peter Pan’s Neverland, Florida is a green, sun-soaked playground where April is indistinguishable from October and a staggering array of flowers blossom year-round between gumbo-limbo trees and cabbage palms.
To a nine-year-old child like me, born in the grubby northeast corner of Arkansas….
To read the rest, click here!