June 17, 2020 · 8:05 pm
I am transitioning.
soft, opaque, all love and light.
choking on small scenes
I started small.
one additional heart
five years, holding his
small, sturdy body in my arms
feeling it bloom, all limbs.
his hands, still new, only larger now.
he rests them on my growing belly
his small mouth talks of protection.
I hold him as I always have
with my whole self
days, minutes, hours before
I split myself in two.
April 27, 2020 · 10:36 am
yesterday i wanted flowers
(such a small, insignificant thing)
weeks ago I’d have quickly ran the
water at the kitchen sink
forgotten to trim the stems
crowded too many into the glass vase
poured in the drops of vodka that
promise to keep them fresh
placed them off center on the kitchen table
and went about my day.
now I’d document the hue of every petal.
I want tulips –
(I’ve forgotten what it’s like to wake with the sun)
the hastiness of red
(we haven’t ran far enough for our cheeks to turn)
the authenticity of purples, blues, pinks –
I’d lay their sweet heads
on the countertop
carefully trim their green feet
reach for the second vase
(distance is key now)
carefully position each one
(watch their delicate necks)
and then I’d watch them bloom.
I’d catch each one as it
stretched out it’s bright arms
and dropped each precious petal
is the smallest,
insignificant of things.
January 6, 2020 · 5:35 pm
Enter a caption
the day is a series of catchphrases
the sun rises and falls
casts the same judging glare
through her living room window
she’s forgotten what the air feels like
when it catches and holds in her throat
like all of the words she’d tossed into
a jar before she dared to try them on for size
somewhere her daughter
cries in unpredictable patterns
quiet, loud, a siren’s wail
barely breathing but never more alive
life thrums at the edges of her doorstep
she counts the crows huddled
along the power lines
and steps back inside
Filed under poetry, Uncategorized, Writing
Tagged as daughter, family, life, love, mother, poetry, relationship, strained, writing
June 6, 2017 · 10:56 am
you ask how I’m managing
but you cut your ears off
fingers smooth as
tree bark touch my wrist
there are daisies where your
eyes should be
you’re all I write about –
did you know this?
don’t be flattered
it’s easier to
write about misery
than it is to
write about love
to write about love
is to try slowing the
beating of your heart
to match the pace of your fingers
like holding a moth
in cupped hands
May 22, 2017 · 10:48 am
Hi!!! ::wipes dust off of blog::
I hope everyone is well. I’ve been writing, writing, writing…but secretly. I am trying hard for a chapbook, have been lucky enough to read at TWO poetry events in the last few months, and have also had two pieces accepted by publications (both forthcoming). I am feeling very creatively blessed at the moment, and am so excited to share those poems with you when they are released.
I’m stopping in to share a piece (I was fortunate enough to have Freshly Pressed) I wrote back when I was big and happy and very pregnant. My son will be two this Friday, and I am a big ball of emotion right now. What a whirlwind it’s been since he entered our lives. I couldn’t ask for a better life. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I am proud to be his mama.
Here’s a link to that piece I wrote before I got to meet that precious boy: a poet to her son
Wishing you all well.
January 12, 2017 · 9:47 am
clasp cold hand
over cold hand
search for the
telephone but they are
catching on all the edges
and we are
October 6, 2016 · 9:45 am
my sweet, small son with
so much light in his eyes
is busy wrapping small fingers
around everything he shouldn’t
and you are not here to call out that
bellowing “yo”, shake your head and
belly laugh, sip a glass of chianti
I’d snuck next to your plate.
I bet he’d stay on your lap just
a bit longer than anyone else’s.
I bet you’d have some way of
taming this small beast that
would leave us all wondering, how.
I think he’d even ask for you
when his tongue starts forming words.
I still think he’ll know to,
somehow, even with you gone –
grandpa, great grandpa, I love you.
September 8, 2016 · 10:00 am
I swear I dreamed you up and
That you are really made of starlight.
When you sleep I reach out and connect our
Constellations, just to be sure there are no kinks.
I measure the sharpness of your face and
Wonder if you will be the opposite of me:
A force, a light that others are drawn to like
I am drawn to you. Will you believe in God?
You can believe in anything you want to.
My love for you will never be measured
By your accomplishments.
I am your Mama, Beautiful boy,
long hair or short, ink on your skin,
a painted face, a red dress, on sunny days
and in a rainstorm.
Show me your teeth and your fists
And I promise, I’m your Mama then, too,
Still checking our connections.
There is no conditional love here.
August 8, 2016 · 11:11 pm
I was hollow, once
just knock, knock, knock
call out and you’ll hear yourself
for days behind my ribcage.
except I’ve been building
in my quiet, novice way
dragging my tools to the
old shed out back in the rain,
plugging away in the half-light.
I call him love,
I keep him on a shelf
imperfectly painted green,
or maybe the exact shade
of some body of water from
some time I can’t really remember.
He’s by the only window, love
where the only ray of sunlight creeps in
and he grows and grows and grows
and sometimes we talk, but he’s still learning
and I know love loves me like I love him.
June 16, 2016 · 2:38 pm
my son chases sunrays that filter in and
dance across our living room floor,
and my heart is heavy.
in all those late-night conversations
let’s have a child, let’s move mountains, create miracles
there was a should we? that lingered on my husband’s lips,
life, I said. it happens all around us. it stops for nothing.
not even for the darkest of days.
we still love, we still create.
we chase sunrays,
shape happiness with shaking hands
drive cars and drink wine and laugh
and laugh and laugh
and then we cry for all that we cannot change.
but then we sigh, take another sip, compose ourselves.
hug our children and whisper I love you and watch
our favorite television shows and drown out all the badness.
I touch my son’s cheek
I dream of his future
still, I regret nothing.
Filed under Uncategorized, Writing
Tagged as children, contemplate, death, family, life, love, poetry, war, wordsandotherthings, writing