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The Work of My Hands
Read my essay interview – WOW! Q4 Creative Nonfiction Essay Runner Up My hands appear thin and frail, well-worn, and bony at the knuckles, age spots playing tag on my skin like connect-the-dot puzzles. Blue streaks settle beneath the surface, and new wrinkles line up near my wrist, promising not to deepen, though I know…
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Palm Walk
I step outside the conference center to make my way home. One sprinkle, two, then three in quick succession. Rain wasn’t in my plan today. An hour’s drive this morning, followed by eight hours of writing sessions means a longing to get home, especially before dark. Raindrops dance on my nose, my forehead, and smudge…
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Mr. Bunny
I can’t stop watching. I sit by the window, binoculars in hand, journal and pen at the ready. A small bunny sneaks under the gate into my backyard where he waits until tree leaves shade the lawn. When all is quiet, he scampers to the nearest bush to have a look around. He attempts one…
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The Keen Scents of Millie
The Keen Scents of Millie What is it that changes the scent of Millie’s fur from one day to the next? All the smells repeat themselves, but not consistently. It’s always a surprise. In thirteen years of Millie’s life, I’ve drawn in eight different fragrances while nuzzling her sweet face, neck, and body. Those long…
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Kid Table
I’m a table. Not the kind you would imagine. I’m tiny. And two tiny chairs snuggle up against me most of the time. I wasn’t complete when I first arrived at the lady’s front porch. The box that held me was so dark and snug, I could barely breathe. But soon, the lady took me…
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Happy Father’s Day
Jack’s Shadowbox Jack of all trades. Demigod of the garden. Camper extraordinaire. Master of music. Guru of games—rummy, poker, pool, and Wheel of Fortune. He roasted green chilis fresh off the vine, cooked up fresh-caught, deep-fried catfish, served hot chocolate gravy over biscuits for breakfast, and ran a locomotive to boot. A 7 x 10-inch…
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A Mother’s Legacy
Mom and I talked every day, from the moment she woke up, right before falling asleep each night, and a few times in between. If she didn’t hear from me, she feared for my life. And though we had little news to share, it was nice to hear her voice. I couldn’t stand the thought…
Writer Leslie Cox 