Not Talking With Ghosts

You don’t really “talk” to ghosts, anyway. It’s my experience, which is very, very limited, that it’s all unspoken. Nothing audible passes, though you do hear words, not through ears, more like in the chest, that juncture in the upper thorax, slightly above where the heart lies.

Songs From My Soul

I just reorganized my closet, dresser, filed or shredded papers that have been on my desk for months. I’ve got a bag of clothes, shoes, belts and sundry other items ready to take to the local women’s shelter. I’ve folded and tucked away winter sweaters, long-sleeve shirts and corduroy pants and pulled out the summer dresses, shorts and sleeveless tops.


We live in an apartment with two balconies, where a squirrel we’ve named Eddie and another named Eddie Jr, frequent our potted plants to bury their cache for the winter months. They inevitably make a mess with the dirt they scatter all over, which my husband thinks is cute and I don’t.