A writer honors her mother on her 80th birthday.
Last week a friend of mine sent me a picture of her 16-year-old son’s grave. She finds comfort in visiting and what struck me was the dirt.
By Gillian Kessler. You were gone at dawn, gone to save lives, run the show.
By Gillian Kessler. A poem about sons and fathers.
By Gillian Kessler. Anxiety sneaks in on little rat wings, as I prepare to leave my children for a significant amount of time.
By Gillian Kessler. He is all elemental, stick and strength, born of my strong body, his muscles rest in mine.
A poem from a daughter to her mother.
Poem: mom and daughter work and grow together in the garden.