Cara Writes

When faced with the basic human ill of starvation clouds set in the ego and fog all sense of morality. It's impossible to fathom sending my kin into the woods, helpless and alone. But love -- love and hunger blind all ability for rational choice. Go ahead and judge me, trust there is no harsher critic than my own conscience. My conscience and God. I worry about my soul sometimes. It's hard to understand reasoning of the divine -- which relationship He values more.

She watches her students through the glass, daydreams of summer Her children peel at the pane, and there’s always a new crack a new scar to run her finger over But they never replace this window they just brush a new layer over the peeling, chipping wood hoping it will hold up another year

It was cavalier, almost, the way you threw money like you threw saddles, buying affection and favors. 18 years you were gone. You returned to the same horse, same saddle, same mountains that protected your secrets. Join me for a ride , you said. Her mother; everyone loved you. She couldn’t say no. She went for a ride and drank your wine and kissed you harder on the lips, just how you wanted. She did what you asked: smiled to your wife at your daughter’s birthday – a girl twice her age. She grinned, vomited in your bathroom, said the ride to your house was tough. She stayed because she couldn’t escape at 15 and you knew. 18 years you were gone… Us two, we held your wife as she cried Like locks on your secrets we intertwined our hands and walked past your memories. Felt like sinners when we thought, we were glad you died.

I rolled the bottle over with my toe, small chunks of sand tossed about inside It looked recent, maybe from the night before. I wondered if they were legal or just summer kids trying to find their own nook on this tiny island. There were rocks everywhere. Rocks and cliffs and dirty sand, not the postcard you find on main street. But he was fascinated by it all. He had seven hundred photos from the trip, obsessed with getting the perfect angle and light. I wonder if he took a picture of my mother, more beautiful than ever, sitting on the cliffs alone.