Tag Archives: Carolyn Martin

One month since

the baby died and weeks-worn clothes languish on the floor, days of dishes in the sink. My ragged husband tries, but can’t get near. He summons up, A short life is life. As if five syllables could heal. I despise … Continue reading

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Conversation

Saturday, our 9:00 a.m. ritual. In Jersey she delays her lunch until my call from Oregon. Three rings – no more – and I swoop in to question her before she questions me. She cannot listen long, so I defer … Continue reading

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