Author: Frank J. Tassone

Lynn’s “a” looks like mine. I hesitate for a second, pray, then open the envelop. Inside lies a folded card with artwork from the Met. Her handwritten message—written right-side to left—begins by thanking me...

I didn’t see what he took out of the ‘frig. I only found out after I saw his PB & J sandwiches. Waves of Reddi-Whip covered the top of each. lunch in the shade...

It’s cool this morning. The maple beside the deck still holds a canopy of lush, verdant leaves. The Pygmy Chinese maple offers no hint of any loss. The lawn is as green—and overgrown—as ever....

What do I remember of her? Straight brown hair, sky-blue eyes and tapered cheekbones? Her love of horses? My head swimming when she smiled? What don’t I remember of her? Our walks in the...

I see the apple tree. It’s dark-gray and brown, ridged bark, with Y-shaped branches splitting upward like outstretched arms from its knotted trunk. Its leaves fill every branch. The 2 x 4 Dad and...

The aroma of her nail polish is so strong that I smell it from the lounge chair. And her hair? Straight and silky. All to visit our dentist—her former employer. She says no. Do...

I don’t know my first memory of Mom. I recall the photo and home movies: beehive hair, white mini. Was it when I cut my hand on that protruding stone at the daycare center?...

Mom said something. “Ok,” I answered, stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. Then one more step toward the door.   CRASH!   Shards of shattered glass rained down on the...