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some scars

She stood in line ahead of me at the coffee shop, her hair in a bun.  The butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck was blue and gray and pink. A thin, pink seam broke the butterfly in half, a dotted scar years healed. I mentally drafted up this…

a life worth writing down

“What are you reading?” “A book about writing,” I said, showing her the cover. “A book about writing … you know, I’d like to write a book.” She put the coffee carafe down on the edge of the breakfast table. “I have seen a lot of things, and I think…