Soul Resolution

Those sinking ships.

Reluctant  to allow that even in the midst of your becoming you are already enough.

Abandon them.


Vanishing Point

Cold refuge is a grace

the ghost of warmth erased

for those with hearts

unwillingly suspended.


On this snowy snowy Christmas Eve. ❤


When I am cloaked in doubt,

my hope so grounded in the world

that I fall short of dreams,

I picture the moon,

distant yet still luminous,

borrowed from its backdrop

of depthless deep blue velvet,

pinned to the collar

of my black wool coat.

over it


head first


yet every time

I claimed

a piece

of myself

I broke

that fall

and fanned

the flames

a little higher

so much water




you may have

to some

been good

but you were not good

to me


Split second fantasy.  He’s idling his truck at the stop sign, waiting for her to reach the curb because he thinks she’s cute. She steps into the street, waves.  He nods back.  Accelerates forward. Gone as fast as second thoughts drive her fantasy away.

Last week, watching her friend’s hair fussery, she avoids her own reflection in the restroom mirror.  Says, someday, someday perhaps, I’ll be with someone who will tell me everyday that I am beautiful. 

You won’t be, you know, her friend replies. Not until you see it for yourself.  Never once taking her eyes off herself.


100 words

Good Things

Bad things come in threes.  Sure enough, she can divide her thus far life into thirds. Name each portion. Like hurricanes.

Minutes into the trip, sunshine splits the rainy sky in half with a rainbow, and then, as if that were not enough, a V of geese flies overhead, and she feels twice blessed.

First rest stop. Presiding over coffee and cookies, there he is. Relic of a war long since past, and he asks her hopefully, as she drops a dollar into the tip jar, if she’d like to hear a pirate joke, and then another, and another.


Getting back into the swing of writing, I gave myself a 100 word limit on this one.

Suffer Them All

I had a nightmare last night.  Dark, and awful and the kind that has stayed with me well after waking up. 

But before the nightmare, I’d taken a picture yesterday morning.  Blue sky, and tall trees, and the sun, so bright, so blinding I could not help but cry with the hope to me it represented.

And little did I know, precisely at the very moment of that picture, what was taking place just about an hour away from where I live.

Yesterday was one of my volunteer days in a classroom of twenty some kindergarteners. And before I knew what had happened so short a distance away, I was thinking once again, as I walked across the playground where kids were carefree climbing and running and screaming-with joy-that I hoped I didn’t look suspicious in any way.  That my hands were out in the open, and that my bag didn’t look big enough to conceal anything bad, and that these thoughts should be horrifying  (well they are ) but also the acceptance of the reality that it’s just the way it is now.

So this little girl named Margot looks at the bracelet I am wearing on my left wrist.  Ball chain, with a letter A and a heart.  She asks, as she points at the A and the heart, what are those for? I tell her they are for my daughter.  That I wear them because I love my daughter.  And I can’t even begin to describe the happy little sigh she makes, that even at five she finds this gesture of love to be very very touching.  That she understands the beauty of love.  And then she asks me, how old is your daughter?  Is she older than you?

In my nightmare, a black hooded face appears at my window. He throws some type of evil destruction into my living room, and I simply sit down next to it, pleading with him to please not do this to me.

To please not do this to Margot.