by Alma Meeker

Sometimes, when I am with him, the corners of my lips feel taut and free-falling. The height of the fall is when I’m most oblivious to the precariousness of my condition. All I can do, though, is pull it closer — fall harder — and realize the grace of diving. The only time I stop is when I realize she will never know him. It’s then, though, that I feel his palms on my cheeks. Maybe, she’s still here.


Alma Meeker started playing with words when she was two. A red cowboy hat, a box of Bics, and "The Poky Little Puppy" (if only marginally) were instrumental in her prolific work. Today, Ms. Meeker is a lifelong learner who enjoys cooking, photography, plays, and the occasional poem. She will teach elementary education for Teach for America and Denver Public Schools this fall.

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