My mom died a miserable death a year ago. This is supposed to happen to other people. Not me.

Recently, I placed a framed picture of my mom above my desk. The picture is probably 15 years old which freaks me out. It freaks me out the oldness of it. And how old that makes me.

A few weeks ago, I took the picture out of its outdated frame and put it in a newer, cooler frame which is all metal and heavy. When you pick it up, it has some real heft to it.

So she now stares out at me smiling more than she usually did in pictures wearing a print dress she looked great in. I remember that day because I took the picture in our backyard after church when I was still mostly a kid.

A few things.

I just want to send it out to the world and the universe today that I miss her. I miss her everyday and I think of her everyday.

I want to say that I'm sorry it took me so long to settle down and she will never know her grandson or any future grandchildren because of it.

When I look at that picture, I can see her picking up my son and holding him and I can feel how happy she would have been.

I also want to admit I was too stoic at times with her because I felt like if she knew I was afraid of her cancer, she would be afraid.

She was one of those rare genuinely good people with a great sense of humor and she always did the right thing.

I don't know what else to say.

I really like looking at that picture.

My boy, Ty, loves adulation. Go give him some.

Read the interview!

Irish Boys

She said it helps to be a lesbian or hint of it if you want people to go cuckoo for your writing. I'm like, fucking disgusting.

Let's all sit around and talk about writing ad nauseum rather than actually doing any.

I'm 30,000 words into my manuscript. How about you?

Not using punctuation makes it a poem. Right?

Ivy grew out of the laptop

and caught me he said

encircled his man wrists

as he reached for his hot tea

whilst I slept with our son

in front of the wall of

pulsing television