granddaughter

Polyp Trees | Fiction

Polyp Trees | Fiction

Mebba told me once that in the south, Magnolia trees mean something different; to our people, anyway. Their stock and branches, thick and twisted between delicately soft blooms that almost make the trees seem beautiful. Almost. I visit her every summer, but this one...
Martha | Poetry

Martha | Poetry

you unknown root my wild card I had you, old woman with still-dark hair squatting by the wood stove hardly glancing at the tiny girl, the post-war baby. my daddy told me we were Blackfoot from you. so in cowboy games I wore backyard feathers. later in his dream west...
Spring Baby | Visual Art

Spring Baby | Visual Art

Digital Collage Before my granddaughter was born, a friend said, ‘A spring baby, how lovely…’ and the words stayed in my head. Months later, in the middle of a bleak, Scottish winter, I longed for flowers and working on this image was a welcome break from the snow and...