Tag: poetry
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Il Cuore di Claire
Claire never thought she’d be the kind of woman to leave everything behind. For twenty-eight years, her life had been neat and predictable a tidy house in Portland, a teaching job she liked well enough, and a marriage that had felt, in the beginning, like a promise of adventure. Her new husband, Evan, loved to…
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Length of November
The first snow always made Naia think of him.Not because they’d ever shared a snowfall together he’d left before winter but because of the way he used to trace shapes in the fog of his breath on her car window. “See? Instant art,” he’d said, as though the fleetingness of things was part of the…
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Learning to love the quiet…
Claire rolled over as the sun spilled through the thin curtains, warming her face in soft golden streaks. For a moment she stayed still, eyes closed, listening.the storm had passed. The night before had been loud with thunder. It rattled the windows. Rain beat relentlessly against the old roof. But now the world outside felt…
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Quiet Strength
Short Story Part 1. Some men carry grief loudly, like thunder rolling across an open sky. Others carry it the way Jake Rivers does quietly, like a shadow that never quite leaves. At thirty-five, Jake looks older than his years. Not dramatically so, but in the subtle ways life leaves its mark: the tired lines…
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Sweaters, Static, and Almost
The first thing Claire noticed about fall that year was the smell. Not just pumpkin spice drifting from café doors or apple cider simmering in crockpots at church gatherings but the sharper scent beneath it all. The scent of change. Crisp leaves cracking under boots. Cold air settling into the spaces between breaths. The kind…
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Post cards I never sent
The town leaned toward the water, like it was listening. Evergreen trees crowded the edges of everything. They stood patient and dark. Their needles caught the rain that never quite decided to fall all at once. The ferry horn sounded some mornings, low and tired, as if even it needed coffee first. I bought postcards…
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Loving a City That Loved Me Back Differently
London was never just a place to me. It was a season. A relationship. A promise I believed in longer than I should have. I arrived hopeful, carrying the kind of optimism that only exists when you think starting over will fix everything. The city welcomed me in its own way gray skies, hurried streets,…
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The meaning I carried…
My name is Ashley. For most of my life, I carried it without questioning where it came from or what it meant. It was simply mine spoken by family, written on papers, called across rooms. As I grew older, though, I began to wonder about the deeper story behind it. Names often hold quiet meanings,…
Quiet Harbor Writing 