Solitude

By Amy Reece  


There is not:

A pail of reeking diapers waiting to be 
washed and hung upon the line,

A sprawl of crippled toys begging
rescue from the floor.

A din of chatter keeping every
quiet thought interrupted,

There are not:

Endless drives to 
playdates, little league, and ballet.

Small warm bodies curled into my lap offering
sweet soft-down to rest my chin upon -

Tires crunching past curfew
into moonlit driveways.

Angry teenage words hurling 
towards my unshielded body.

There is only this:


* * * * *

Born on a stormy night in upstate New York.  Amy grew up strong and creative with three athletic brothers who teased her into being the person she is today. While teaching horseback riding, elementary English, and ending her career in a therapeutic classroom, Amy earned her masters in special education and an MFA in creative writing. She has one published novel and is working on her next one while taking breaks to write Children’s Books.  

Amy’s home, with her husband Doug, on Martha’s Vineyard Island is perfect for living the author’s life and making her writing dreams come true.