Sometimes things just go awry. Sometimes too many combustable elements get shaken up in the bottle together and all that happens is the bottle explodes. Volcanic eruption. It overflows. Sometimes I am the bottle of elements. Sometimes I am the one cleaning the mess up. You get to be both. You get to do both.… Continue reading mishap
Tag: heartbreak
A fluttering
This summer hangs, hazy and lazy as a nap on Sunday in which you awaken dizzy blushing with heat. Not so much sticky as humid. Uncomfortable hours spent finding the coolest spot on the pillow. Hours tick by painfully slow without an end in sight. Change comes slowly, so slowly this summer. Do remember a time… Continue reading A fluttering
A death knell
Love falls apart so swiftly. Somehow. With the slow drip of a leaky faucet it can move from fullness to trickle. Even the sink is wet from so many droplets of consistency, day in and day-out- ness. Conversations about groceries and schedules and laundry until the silence between drips becomes longer. Then, eventually, there is… Continue reading A death knell
So I remember…
I write it down so I remember. Here is a letter I wrote last year (July 20th 2018) to a writer I admire and deeply resonate with. I am placing it here, so I know where the words are when I need to read them. "The humid July of Baltimore is good company for me… Continue reading So I remember…
The 31 lessons of my 30th year.
An apartment with brown walls is a hard sell. There is nothing twinkle lights can't fix. Or a wind-chime.Love is really, really hard. (Self love, friend love, romantic love, family love. Love of all kinds.)TV is still not as interesting as a great book.Loving a dog is a process in patience. It is ok to… Continue reading The 31 lessons of my 30th year.
Woodland
Once, someone said they loved me the way they loved the woods. They said the woods were wild and so was I. How the woods were always there for them, and so was I. How the woods waited and watched for them. Just like I did. Untamable, neither good nor bad, present and silent and… Continue reading Woodland
June and pie.
She begins in a color-wheel of pinks and greens. Hummingbirds visit the back porch feeder and the crepe myrtle reaches towards the sky out front. The grass is cut. And the neighbors cut theirs too, the endless race to have a yard that will, please god, stay beautiful for more than 3 days. The clover… Continue reading June and pie.
Spring poem
It starts so small you hardly see itNothing to see, truly only you feel.And once you feel it you can't help but see it,Is it seeing or feeling that makes it real?Still, all at once it seems to the world outside,That beyond the waiting something grows.All the work you've been learning by your lonesome,The reaching… Continue reading Spring poem
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