Resume and Portfolio
Poetry Portfolio
Clicking here, you will access a portfolio of Mary’s poetry. Enjoy!
Fiction Portfolio
Clicking here, you will access a portfolio of excerpts from Mary’s works of fiction. Enjoy!
Write From Within.
The Duplicity of Tomorrow
Tomorrow’s never certain
That’s what they always say.
Why do I feel so hurt, then
If it lasts only for today?
The snow melts my skin, I’m freezing
The trees look on and laugh
As I stand waiting for the season
To unstick me from this path.
An owl lands above me
“Who?” It has to ask
I cannot seem to get free
From the self they want to unmask.
I close my eyes and breathe in
The smoke from the baffled fire
That my brain keeps lighting again
Even when it starts to tire.
I see the daylight dancing
Across the snow-capped peaks
And though the forest keeps advancing
For once its current feels weak.
There will be another moment
Where I won’t know how to stay
But for now my feet are frozen
Because they were made this way.
I think tomorrow’s certain
From a whisper through the wind
Of a turning earthbound burden
Not allowed to spark the end.
Excerpt from All That Glitters
“George didn’t know why he was plagued with such a deep and vivid memory. There were so many people he knew that had gotten to his age, many even younger, and lost much of their memory. His seemed to only improve with age, the memories growing stronger and more intense, the emotions overwhelming his senses even more than they did when it was actually happening.
With tears in his throat that threatened to choke him, George put the old photograph down. He felt more grown up when that photo was being taken than he did now, but it didn’t matter. He had to focus. There were only a few more hours of light in the sky, and if he didn’t get quick to repair the holes in the house and the windows, then he’d freeze overnight.
He worked much of the rest of the day, nailing bits of wood over cracks in the old wood. He tested the wood-burning stove and nothing exploded, so he felt that it was a good sign.. He went outside to the little porch that sat in the front of the house. There was an old rocking chair that once stood there, but it was in pieces now and unrecognizable.
George tried not to let it affect him, but inside he felt like the rotting pieces of wood himself. It didn’t slip past him that he was just as old as that rocking chair and, somehow, he thought that he could survive a month here.
He tried not to dwell on it.
He always knew that the clearing was at the top of the mountain, almost the peak, but as a child he never stopped to realize just how high up he was here. The entire state, it seemed, was stretched before him. He could see the little houses and stores of Olympia, and he knew at night that their lights would dot the dark ground like stars in reverse. “