You sing your caged bird song
a lonely trill that echoes in the hearts of mothers,
with a tug at familiar longings,
but the wisdom of a thousand shattered
fragments of love.
So fly. Go. I will be here to catch you.…
…
As I am preparing to move to our new home, I am finding that I have accumulated far too much “stuff”. Packing up a house necessitates clearing out the clutter we have collected through the years. This is also true of writing practice.…