The forgotten summer burns across
her graveyard mound, her footstone
displaced, moved to the side
where the gravediggers left it,
after drinking a pint, maybe two,
they must have talked about her,
why her grave was laid between two men.
The forgotten summer burns across
I don’t NEED a friggin’ paper boat! I said out loud as I crumpled my failed craft project into an angry little ball. I was at a Creative Mornings convo in a group of about a hundred peppy people, all of whom seemed to have no problem following instructions as, while I pretended to look at a Very Important Email on my iPhone, they held aloft little origami boats to show how successful they had been when prompted.Read More
When I was 16 my mother’s boss had told her that my looks were going to be a hurdle for me with men some day. I needed to be careful when I was released into the world on my own. Still working overtime at pulling out of my lifelong awkward stage, I was confused by what that even meant. I was always the personality, hitting you with intensity from every angle. Too much to some, just enough to others, but mostly a royal pain in my teachers asses.Read More
I had never heard of Kate Spade until she committed suicide.
I am not into famous people and brands. Popular culture demands too much attention. I confessed on Facebook; but the deluge of responses
from people familiar and unfamiliar inundated my meager poetry, opinions, photos and selfish posts.
I left my wallet in the grocery cart the other day.
As I drove home, top down, iPod playing my driving playlist through twelve vibrating speakers bass turned down so my ears don’t become unglued, but Bruce turned up. The day was blue and crisp and fluffy white. I mentally inventoried my grocery gabs in the trunk and once again applauded the nondairy cashew milk frozen sandwiches on sale plus a coupon. Life was looking pretty good. I glanced over to the passenger seat where I threw my wallet on Bella’s small paw prints still indented silently on the black cushion. Except there was no wallet.
And did you know
my monster friends. No I’m
not being childish.
My tongue is nowhere near
I’m talking about Frankenstein,
who is made of many parts.
He’s coming to terms with a myriad
of past lives in one body.
Everyone in this room is a Limited Edition. Every single one of us.
I’m thinking that maybe I’ll get that etched somewhere. Over my heart, maybe. Because that little muscle is one of a kind in all of us.
It’s resilient and it’s broken and it’s cracked and it aches. It fills up and takes up a lot of real estate. It overrides the brain a lot.
The other day my son asked me why four leaf clovers are lucky. He's in first grade and we were standing at the edge of our pea gravel driveway waiting for his bus, looking at the clusters of clover growing around the wooden 4x4 fence post with holes in it he refers to as the "bumblebee apartments." The clover were waking up dewy-bright in varying greens with a little hot pink and gold and a few blossoms that look like they would be at home in a Dr. Seuss book. My son found his first four leaf clover a few weeks ago. It took him only 10 minutes after realizing nobody falls for a doctored up three-leafer. My sister taught me... "Just look at the patterns."Read More
I stood over your grave today
never thought I'd be in this area again
I hadn't seen you in twenty years
I whispered, “I love you, I'm so sorry
for the way you must have suffered”
I don’t want closure, I hate that word. My cat, my beloved eleven-year-old beautiful orange cat, Jimmy, died. He had a brain tumor and couldn’t be fixed. Where he was once a 16-pounder ready to take on all the squirrels and birds he could spy from his perch in our sun room, he had become so thin, so frail, his shiny, wiry coat became dull and sparse.