Three weeks passed since the Keurig machine stopped talking.


“A Keurig? Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re so busy with your work I doubt you find time for decent coffee,” my mom said.

I happened to work next to a couple … more »

My mother left me a suitcase of sweaters

she knitted in mohair, wool, acrylic
in blends of burnished ochre
bright carmine, sombre blue, sea green.

I see her now in her favourite red chair
by the front window
her feet … more »

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