I Never Gave Her a Name

I’m a week late posting this piece in the gem of a journal that is Microfiction Monday Magazine. The micro form transforms one’s writing heart into a fluid and raw state. For me, writing micros frees my mind from the baggage it so often carries while trying to impress. I hope you stop by Microfiction Monday. And while you’re there, check out all the marvelous micros; Edition 116 boasts beautiful pieces by David Hensen and G.J. Williams!

Thank you, Microfiction Monday, for publishing and sharing I Never Gave Her a Name; sometimes words take me back to a doll-less time in my childhood.

micro monday

(image or highlighted text will transport you to Microfiction Monday Magazine)

Our Precious Topper

This precious angel was once lovingly battled over by six Roselli children expressly for the honor of placing her atop the Christmas tree each year.

Every Christmas since, our dear little angel, freed from her topper duties, gallops into our hearts — hearts a bit saddened for the loss of one so joyful.

Though these days shadows last a bit longer, our hearts remain ever grateful in the light of Millie’s memory — the precious angel atop our hearts.

Missing you and your beautiful voice this Christmas season.🌟

A peaceful, warm, and safe Christmas to all🌲

angel

Halo, How Are You?

Been awhile since I’ve been here. I do so hope you and those in your circles, near and far, are doing well. ❤️

My family and I have been busy settling into our new, upstate New York, home built in 1930. I often think about the families who’ve passed through a place built during the Great Depression. They survived. I believe we will too. Peace, kindness, and love are out there in the world…
sainted flapper

With peace and love for the holidays🌟
AnnMarie

I painted this gal in 2016, seems so much farther back…

Father’s Day❤️

His friends called him Bill, the rest — Vito
I remember other men gathering ‘round him at parties
Women telling him what a handsome figure he cut

He smiled in that tall, broad-shouldered frame
His eyes were as piercing as his deep voice—
terrifying as a child
remarkable in my adulthood

I believed any criminal in my father’s path
would immediately surrender themselves
to this larger than life FBI man
Judicious and fair with or without his law degree

His life stories from working an ice truck at seven years old
to duking it out on a golf course at seventy
were mesmerizing in detail, entertaining in delivery

The temper — he possessed a fierce one
No patience for silliness
but all the time in the world for family

I reflect often on his driving force
his charismatic personality
his soft side

Not a day goes by when I don’t miss him

dad - the look

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY to all you wonderful fathers!❤️