By Laci Hoyt | I stopped fighting with my kid. I stopped yelling. I stopped demanding. I stopped threatening. I stopped arguing. I stopped correcting. I stopped all of it.
His room is a giant mess – dirty clothes piled in front of dirty sheets. Dirty cups, plates, and empty electrolyte water bottles on every surface.

By Laci Hoyt | from “How Memories Survive” - For Cleo. On my walk today, I passed black walnuts on the street / broken open, partially crushed, their little pig noses / face up to the sky.

By Laci Hoyt | Mom, will you play with me? / you asked, / your voice honey-dipped, / the beckoning of a young heart / wanting to connect. / Sure, in a minute, I said / as if dishes or laundry or vacuuming / carried any importance, / as if cleanliness / could replace connection.

By Laci Hoyt | Our van moves down the highway, my husband behind the wheel. In the passenger seat, I wipe tears from my cheek. We have just left our firstborn child at college for the first time. This loss has been looming for the last year. All summer, I tried to cram in as much quality time with her as I could, hoping it was enough to make up for the past, knowing full well that it wasn’t.