by Katharine Kaufman | Aug 30, 2016 | today
Friday. I ride my old tan bike early to the clinic. Cool breeze. Heart pumps. Breath breath breath breath breath. Left pedal keeps sliding almost off so I lift up foot, and kick the side of pedal in place. Elder Latino man, safety vest and stop sign, walks in middle...
by Katharine Kaufman | Aug 16, 2016 | today
Yesterday morning while picking at something on my shirt, fingers around my empty teacup loosened. Cup crashed down, shattered all over the kitchen floor. It happened, I said out loud, and then a pause while my brain got it and then the tears. This cup held my morning...