Categories
Writing

Boo Hoo/ Cut & Dry

“‘S’cuse me ma’am. I’m lost.


I can’t find grandpa nowhere.”


“Funeral room five.”

Categories
Writing

Water Has Been Found

Ridges cleave open

Sun screens burn to smithereens

Mars? Arizona!

Categories
Writing

Leaning In

Replying to the last of my clients and closing Outlook, I lament the ticket to D.C. that will go unused tonight. I fight back a tightness in my throat that I’ve come to understand needs two fingers of whiskey to solve at the end of the day. No one did this to me.

I always said you’re not ready to start your own company until you can’t remain at any other company.

Truthfully, I let myself steal from myself. I stole my future from myself. Procrastinating to avoid managing emotions about living. The reward of putting things off…that feeling becoming an addiction in itself. A dream adjacent my true dream.

My vision for this company is like rain. Cleaning out self-pity and distractions that tug at my memory, emotional reserves, concentration, and—

“¿Qué cenamos?”

“Dejame…”

He scurries away like I’ve just raised my hand to slap him. Maybe he’ll ask his father and be scared enough to actually leave me alone. I love my kids. I love my kids. I love them. But I can’t love my clients, kids, boss, husband, churchgoers, everyone! Can I?

I pour the whiskey and set my out of office email with no return date.

Categories
Writing

NFT’s Me

Meet me 4pm

Hand on hand like a mirror

“I’ve missed you darling.”

Categories
Writing

No Time To Think: A Princess Charming Adventure

If love is a hotel…

And my love is on the top floor…

What gets me in the door?

To the front desk?

On the elevator?

With a key to the top floor? (Of course that floor is locked and guarded by fearsome goons.)

To the same room on the top floor?

And into his arms to save his life?

Categories
Writing

Alone In My Mind

With clanging whirlwinds

Still meditating—no breath—

My own voice unheard

Categories
Writing

Lake Michigan Winter Date

Crystal ice like shells

Once we fall through, won’t we freeze?

Scurry back laughing

Categories
Writing

The Starting Over

I stir the cream into my coffee. The sky is lit with the moon and it keeps me awake enough to race with my thoughts. “Compatible,” I think. I keep getting hit with this word when I least want to hear it. When I make a play for permanence, the other party starts their doubts. “Is it me or her timing?” “Is she consistent?” “Is she looking at me right now?” I don’t want to make them uncomfortable, but I do. And then they hit me with it. “Do you think we’re compatible?” And the next move is crucial. Because once they ask, there is only one correct answer.

Categories
Writing

Brings Him Glory

I couldn’t think of something more peaceful to do than sit on the grass in the sunlight and let my warmth and the temperature of the grass come to one stable level. It is even more than touching snow until fingers freeze just slightly. Like flow. The beautiful mornings are given to us by God and the perfect temperature is something set by the Lord. Even when we assume details that please us are too trivial for the Lord, remember that he made it so grass shows up as individual blades instead of one large patch of a waving piece of oxygenated plant. He detailed it so that grass is singular. So I must see the small pleasures as singular—a detail given to me, once again, by our true and living God. Because he is living he can also enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Whenever I feel warm I imagine that the atmosphere is giving me a hug, keeping me close and safe and comforted like a child. When it is cold I want to cry. And then both are love and beauty and detail from God and in all he is righteous.

Categories
Writing

Love Then Lost

All the while we snooze

Sorrow billows, tears…. pillows

‘Tis better to have…

Categories
Writing

This A.M.

Clouds move, but don’t pass

Clung to me with “I need you”

Darkened day and night

Categories
Writing

A Vow, Maintained

She told her father

But he couldn’t disannul.

Head hung, she went on.

Categories
Writing

God’s Mercy

If I had to choose,

Criticism than lashings.

Lashings than to die.

Categories
Poetry Writing

The Truth of The Spare Tire

What do I have a spare tire for? I don’t even know how to drive.

I told my friend I didn’t have friends and he agreed. I wanted to meet new people, but then I couldn’t find any good reason I’d leave my place to meet people.

Categories
Writing

Sandsuckers

In the morning they installed 100% California Bluegrass. Avalon made people around her vindictive and impatient when she wasn’t trying to. To them, she was obtrusive in sight and impossible to get out of their heads.

So the night before, when they thought no one could find them for being so dark, I saw with my own two eyes, they poured at least three feet deep…barrels and barrels and barrels full of sand through her lawn and shoveled through. Whatever owner she planned to sell this house to, they did not want them growing a single bud. Months later I heard it told she had a conversation with the owner.

When asked what type of plant was growing from the ground she said “Sand suckers.” It obviously went over their heads, but created for an awkward enough lull in conversation to transition her out of the home now that the sale was done. The sale always got done. Their thoughts about her started making them uncomfortable and she finally, in her thirty-second year in life, had become comfortable with the tenseness in the air around her. And Avalon wanted to talk more about the grass. To tell them they had a lawn that was quite literally resistant to sand and weeds because she…

But she got the hint. She always got the hint even if too early—even if before there was a hint. And left happy, leaving them happy in their new home.

Categories
Uncategorized

Should Not Even Be A Word

What is not gradient?
What flow of time isn’t eventual memory loss?

What remembrance wasn’t each day feeling the real thing less and less and then transferring sensation into delusional perception—for the sake of not fading?

What isn’t gradient?
It should not even be a word.

What catatonic love wasn’t daily forgetting why anything was worth the efforts?

Who is born as man?
Who is born, skin already taught?
Flesh nearly ready to burst?
Ready to give up into deadly

nothing but still


Floating into air like interpretive dance and all muscles pulsing?
Who is born man?

What song isn’t transition from now until the end?