I found altar flowers sitting at my doorstep this Sunday, wilting in the Florida August heat – their piety drained, sagging, heavy-blossomed red and peach-colored roses, tall purple somethings at mid-staff, smaller, brighter purple I don’t know whats fading – the weight of it all. I know my flowers about as well as my saints.… Continue reading
Month: August 2017
She steadily works the beads over with her left hand, doing laps around her right wrist. It’s early, or late, and still dark. The full moon hangs low; it’s all the light she needs. She didn’t sleep much this night nearly ended, mind racing. Maybe – yes, perhaps, now – it’s possible. All things seem… Continue reading
caroline ridgway 