From Sharon LaCour’s The Body’s Betrayal:

…her skin which had over decades thinned to the point of transparency where the blue veins mapped a complex pattern of tributaries as intricate in design as the spider’s web, as tenacious and as fragile.

Then I watched your body dissipate, the tortured skin turning black, the pain deep inside the bone. Slipping you into pajamas, the hollow around your collarbones, the wires of your arms, the transparent skin, the breasts like small, weathered bird’s nests hung on a fence. Did you feel betrayed by your body? Or is it the other way around, that you gave up on it finally, stopped fighting to keep it going?

“captures the feelings of guilt, betrayal, confusion, and sadness all at once… gives the reader an unforgettable scene”

—Kimberly Valle, contributing Creative Nonfiction editor, Levitate Magazine

From The Seawall:

She scrambled to her knees and gulped in the lake air, thrilled as usual at the sight of the lake. All sky and water as far as the eye could see, twenty-six miles across of water, the thin silver sliver of the causeway bridge shining in the distance. Behind and on both sides of them the city nestled into its bowl between this lake and the Mississippi River. She was aware of the city being there and yet it felt like another world here by the lake, like a far, away, remote place, only twenty minutes from their door.

Today the water mirrored the placid sky, flat glassy with few ripples, the color of a green coke bottle, or darker, and murky. Eight steps showed above the surface of the water with more below. She would go down as far as he allowed, the steps being slippery and the lake not safe here for swimming. Then you could see below the surface to the bright green moss swaying on the bottom steps and figure out how many more steps continued under the water. 

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