Final Words: Reflections of a Forensic Pathologist

Writing

Home » Writing

“My Father’s Shadow”

Months to Years 2022

“Prague”

Blood & Thunder Fall 2022

pp 173-178

“Dinner Hour”

Blood & Bourbon Fall 2022

Pushcart Prize Nominee

Stairwell

A crowd gathered outside as Joe watched through a grimy kitchen window. People huddled in groups of twos and threes facing a deserted apartment building. Joe scanned the area then checked the time on the microwave—7:00 a.m. Folks were getting ready to leave for work. He didn’t recognize most of them; he had moved to Syracuse only recently. Besides, night shifts in the warehouse prevented him from crossing paths with normal day jobbers. …..

Author’s Choice

Home

Prometheus Dreaming September 9, 2021

Read More

Scents and Sensibilities 

Prometheus Dreaming September 9, 2021

Read More

The Excavation

At Any Age Multiplicity: a nonfiction literary magazine Issue 4
Spring 2022

Read More

  • The Boy

    The Boy

    I stare at the artwork of bright yellow, red, and blue that my children created with finger paint. This picture of their hands hangs on the wall of my office. It is an image of playfulness and youth. Meditatively rocking in my leather swivel chair, I savor the steam from a freshly brewed cup of…

    Read More

  • Flies

    Flies

    The beauty of the adult fly belies its immature state. Fully developed blow flies are pollinators, drawn to the aroma of food or flowers. Their larvae are scavengers of necrotic tissue. Those of us who wield the swatter with murderous venom sense the disgusting childhood of these nuisance bugs.

    Read More

  • Home

    Home

    Opening the wrapping, I saw two severed arms in the package. Their pale white skin speckled with tiny yellow bumps. Chipped coral polish, inexpertly applied, was visible on the fingernails, bitten to the quick. An aroma of astringent emanated from the limbs along with a sour smell.

    Read More

  • The Boy

    I stare at the artwork of bright yellow, red, and blue that my children created with finger paint. This picture of their hands hangs on the wall of my office. It is an image of playfulness and youth. Meditatively rocking in my leather swivel chair, I savor the steam from a freshly brewed cup of…

    Read More

  • Flies

    The beauty of the adult fly belies its immature state. Fully developed blow flies are pollinators, drawn to the aroma of food or flowers. Their larvae are scavengers of necrotic tissue. Those of us who wield the swatter with murderous venom sense the disgusting childhood of these nuisance bugs.

    Read More

  • Home

    Opening the wrapping, I saw two severed arms in the package. Their pale white skin speckled with tiny yellow bumps. Chipped coral polish, inexpertly applied, was visible on the fingernails, bitten to the quick. An aroma of astringent emanated from the limbs along with a sour smell.

    Read More

Forensic Articles

31(1):18-21

“Deaths with Transdermal Fentanyl Patches”

 American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, March 2010

Read More

52(3):702-705

“Traumatic Asphyxia in Weightlifters”

Journal of Forensic Sciences, May 2007

Read More

47(2):15-27

“Carbon Monoxide in Swimmers”

Check Sample Forensic Pathology Series, ASCP, February 2005

Read More

Archived blogs

  • Voices

    Voices

    “Hi, you’ve reached John and Kelly. We’re not here to take your call right now, so leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.” The voice is cheery like the one we all use for our phone tags. I listen to these reminders of the recently departed life with…

    Read More

  • When He Snapped

    When He Snapped

    Afterward, no one could explain why he had done it. It happened while Ashley was watching television, an after-school cartoon, Rugrats, maybe, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, her face inches from the screen. Her mother would have scolded her for ruining her eyes or absorbing harmful radiation or not doing…

    Read More

  • The Canal

    The Canal

    “Will there be girls?” the teen asked eagerly, brushing red bangs from his forehead. “Copy that,” crackled the radio followed by, “but it’s not at my home 20.” Eddie huddled next to his roommate who was speaking into the handheld. He raised his eyebrows and mouthed, “What’s he mean?” Their garage was base station for…

    Read More