I wake to tiny feet And long legs Always perpendicular to my body But parallel to my heart And you will grow weary Of my bad jokes and silly puns As I grow tired of your always-presence Though we’ll each miss them when they’re gone. But now, at seven You’ve taken up that role of the bad comedian Much better than I, Here at 35, once was. So I don’t change your angle anymore Or carry you to your bed. Instead I wake and hold your feet in my hands…read more
After a while, things keep going wrong, and you start to feel the urge to dig deeper. That’s not to say, I am not fully aware of where I’ve been mistreated, transgressed upon, oppressed, wronged… hurt, betrayed. That’s not to say, I have been the imperfection in a perfect world. No, I know things have been wrong on the other side of this coin for a long time, many coins, repeatedly. But, after a while, you look at that common denominator and realize… there has to be something, some failure,…read more
Here in the wee hours After prayer and prostration The panic of hours settles in So much can be done in darkness So much that nothing will be done at all So I contemplate you and I and him also What we or he and I could have become How broken we all must be to never become anything more than shattered pieces of little stories that will never be finished Fables and fairytales that will never be told. I thought I saw you Wild and beautiful And him too…read more
You told me in not so many words that you cannot love me when you’re hurting You cannot take an interest in who or what I am while licking your own wounds I look at the smooth chip of skin placed softly amidst the wrinkles of my third knuckle and infer a diagnosis: Even when I draw blood not even the feigning of concern How bored I must be to tolerate this not-so love How many years might I wait for you to notice Me.
I have not been able to write in a couple months. I’m not sure what it is… depression, distraction, lack of motivation? I am not making time for a daily practice of ANYTHING. Writing, prayer, showering, eating a regular meal, a simple morning routine, regular sleep… nothing. It’s all chaos and by the seat of my pants lately. I’m weary of it. I have so much on my heart and mind, but it seems to stop short of my finger tips. So for now, let’s start with journaling. Whether it’s…read more
Cloud flow over Tsubetsu-cho Pass
A sea of alpine brushed in light
The vapor rousing
Rising like a ghost from it’s grave
Or restless spirits
caught in slow exposure
bodies left to dry like persimmon
The old traditions linger
on the mountainside.
Our bodies flutter
at a constant angle
millions of miles away
a moon, glowing
the Great Bear
our celestial guide.
We navigate with caution
warned about the heartless flame
we sense heat
and retreat from fire.
pulls at rolling waves
Dusk falls and the dance begins
I’ve watched his body lob through the air
each wing stroke dragging him up an inch
saved from the fall
The stark orange of his mouth
competes with the fading light
And I stare mercilessly
Examining the strength of jaw
He comes bearing small gifts
Ever since I was a young girl, I have been deeply fascinated by National Geographic magazine. The wonders of natural phenomena, distant cultures, space and the cosmos… it has all enthralled me for as long as I can recall. Early in life, I insisted my dream career was to be a NGeo photographer and travel the world capturing the unique beauty and wonder of this planet. As most childhood dreams fade, those did as well. But the fascination always remained.
Now, I’d like to take an opportunity to revisit that fascination directly, but to do so from where I stand now, as a writer.
I made a prayer for guidance
And signs like meteors
came barreling forth
We sat on the lawn and watched them
light fire to everything
Each hope and near certainty
I saw the ash rise up in the air
like a warning
choked on it
Then we held hands and laughed