NEW YEAR 2013

This Thursday I am reading a short story to a tough audience. I am scared. Alone. A good place to start. My story is a dialogue between my 86-year old Aunt Alene from Corinth, Mississippi and myself on her birthday this past February in 2012. I sent her yellow roses, not knowing that her deceased husband of sixty-six years had given her yellow roses on her birthday. Picked from his garden. Every year. He has been deceased for six years. And she has been home bound and confined to a wheelchair as a result of a broken neck early in her life and the ravages of that injury . It is from here we begin.