marci madary My Grandma was 98 ½; she died on my grandpa’s birthday. He had left this world 5 ½ years earlier. Cognitively engaged until...

by Marci Madary My desk faces the back of our third-floor condo where I frequently gaze over my computer screen into the branches of all...

by Marci Madary Worry wakes me at four in the morning. Worry walks with me and my dog. Worry refuses to wash off my hands, even with...

What if darkness isn’t something to fear, but a requirement? What if relaxing into the long night is the secret? I have sat alone in...

Is a widow ever not a widow anymore? Is a mother ever not a mother? Even if, God forbid, all her children die? In the sensation of the...

Originally penned by a slave-ship captain, a confession of sorts; this, his prayer of praise for a conversion of heart. Something struck...

Living in the unknown is more comfortable as an idea than it is a reality. When we find ourselves in the in-between, we cannot help but...

The tightness in my jaw from holding back tears of sorrow. The rise in my shoulders lifted by societal tension. The upset in my stomach...