Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • They were singing songs of mourning.
    I shot this during my grandma's funeral.
    She died in the big city noise.
    She was brought back here.

    I wrote this the last time I was with her here, 6 years back in the quiet, quiet. Pinned to my wall, since.
    'Ants with barbed feet crawled,
    the sound of spices being crushed in the kitchen.
    Metal ringing out through the recesses of the roof,
    she stood barefoot

    like the flame of a clay lamp in a fast wind.'
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.