“The men didn’t stop what they were doing when we entered the room, didn’t even look at us,” said Ralph. He leaned forward, staring, his hands clasping the arms of his chair. “They were zombies—no feeling in their eyes. They didn’t care.”
— "Unanswered Questions" from Carbon Culture Review
 
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“I’m a mother and trains no longer run alongside Grandma’s house. The tracks lay like metal braces on wooden teeth, and weeds grow high between railroad ties, the whistle a ghost.”

- “All That We Have Shared,” from Minerva Rising Journal

“Stroking the oak grain, John traced back to his youth to a time when Our Lady of Sorrows, stifled by incense and Latin, embodied mystery, and when Catholic tradition, rigid and unforgiving, embraced misery over mercy.”
— "Waiting Until it Stopped Twitching"
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“Those eyes. Some appeared wild, aggressive, a willingness to win at all cost. Other eyes registered a bit of fear, a cry of surrender, the blink of inescapable loss.”

- “Wrestling with Myself,” from Motherlode: Essays on Parenting

“Powell uncrossed his legs and planted both feet on the sticky linoleum floor. He wanted to kick a hole into it. He wanted to bury himself. Maybe he’d drag Max with him. Maybe there, secreted away, he could tell Max what had happened and not be judged. How could he explain what he didn’t understand?”
— "Boy on a Rope"
 
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“I wanted to be far away from the realities of WWII, decades in the past and yet I was here because Grandma had invited me to attend the movie with her. I was here because I knew if I didn’t accompany her, she would have come to the theater by herself. I was here because I didn’t want her to see the film alone.”

– “What Does It Mean to be a Witness?” from DoveTales, An International Journal of the Arts – Empathy in Art: Embracing the Other