Chorus of Blue

A Glimpse of Quiet

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Writing

The sun climbs near white over the dark brussel of trees casting a pale gold light over the shaded snow. A chill sifts in through the old window pane and I notice for the first time evidence of a breeze. The plastic purple flags from last Eid flutter between the oaks and the glass orbs of holiday lights dangle, frosted, in early mist. Everything is soft even the smoke rising in the distance the cold, cloudless sky the slick steel of the chain link fence black tires on the old…read more

Hardship Values: How to Instill Values in a Generation of Spoiled Kids

Posted by in Articles & Rants, Motherhood Project, Writing

I’m not going to pretend to remember every little thing that we did in our childhood. My siblings and me. But there are certain things that stand out. We were bad kids, though not by our parents’ definition. We stole, got in fights, cursed, tagged on walls and cars, destroyed public and private property, ran away, got in all kinds of trouble. We were a happily quasi-functional family. I don’t remember my mom ever sitting me down and saying, “Don’t steal from people only from stores,” but we somehow maintained…read more

Observations II

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Writing

The three of you Splayed out– You and your brother Two little bodies Covers tossed and tangled About you Your hair– Beautiful dark brush Wild staghorn coral Curling and sticking straight up Or out Or everywhere Your long tanned legs The delicate sculpture Of ears, fingers– A wet invisible thumb The roundness of everything And your cat Our dear friend Large, Larger than I remember Curled up, his tiny precious chin Poking out at me– Fur contracting in A steady rhythm With the rise and fall Of his too-vulnerable Gut…read more

Upon Reading of the Death of Reetika Vazirani

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Writing

I must admit I searched for photographs long before I took a moment to figure how to pronounce your name. I wondered grotesquely what it must look like: a young Indian poet lying parallel to her two-year old son’s body both silent wrists slashed. And having read recently so much of suicide and death having taken it apart dissected it I felt, perhaps, I had some inside knowledge or then, perhaps not and hence– It is a morbid obsession how often images will bring us nearer to horror than mere…read more

Clown Suits

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Writing

My mother tells me of clown suits and lipstick on her cheeks all day dressed as a fool I say mother, though it has always been mom sadness comes I want to cry then I do I do not remember this: birthday parties when she went through everything to make me happy an entire afternoon what can I say? she tells me stories of being a mom and i write them off again and again selfish self-martyring memory I think of the memoir and feel shame she was wonderful once…read more

The Motherhood Project

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry

I have been challenged to write daily on the subject of ‘motherhood’ for one year. Granted, I was supposed to begin at the start of January, so that I would have a solid 365 entries to boast, but I havent been terribly good about the whole ‘daily’ element of it. So, I am going to begin posting here, perhaps, if I have a few followers, it will elicit a bit more commitment and accountability on my part. Time will tell. As a writer, I feel that, you can’t truly call…read more


Obsession I

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Writing

I have given up the hope You see Or fear, perhaps Of being with-child From our last encounter That is Not for forever As I do hope Expect even That I We will Strange to say But my mother She laughed And said hysterical Perhaps Hysterical But she was full of hope Near certainty Mothers are masters of wishful thinking And it was the many things Skewed with some hope or fear I say or, could be and, I can’t say But for years I’ve felt a child’s quickening echos…read more

6 a.m.

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Writing

I became a mother when my daughter was nearly six That’s not to say that I hadn’t had all sorts of motherly moments… Moments with my son who came two years exactly after my daughter (A surprise! because he was a long forgotten plan.) Moments of cuddling up in their cramped little beds as much for myself as for them (We do odd things to feel like mothers) That sweet milk of infant breath caressing my chin the weight of their little bodies against my chest All of those “precious…read more

Dark Passages

Posted by in Poetry, Writing

There are dark places                  dark holes                  a dark heart                  deep, unbearable passages eating me from the inside out. And here, another dark poem                         how they all sound the same pity and self-loathing and always                                            always the dark.

The Snow

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Writing

From the corner of my eye the snow breathes in on us, falls gently in flutters, flits wildly, layering us in cold cold quiet. I pull on my boots, wrap a scarf lazily about my head, reach into the stiff warm gardening gloves. The compost bucket has been full for weeks, the run over, rotting in a paper bag; There have been better days to do this, I settle on today. Outdoors, my boots crunch, leave quickly covered footprints I will never see, and I make my way in the…read more