I put my fingers to my solar plexus and am not sure if it’s the flattening of hands I need or a boring inward. Who needs healing today.Read More what happened when I shed the cloak my mother gave me
For all of the little girls sitting in chairs.
Waiting for all of the little girls sitting on stoops.
This past week – in my dis-ease – I looked out the same window that Chris spent many a day gazing through, as his body broke down. I remembered his silence, his privacy. I converged with it a little further, as I too feared from within my body. And I too said nothing.Read More a private grief
Each hand on the other elbow. Heavy cotton, the only thing holding her in. Enshrouding her. She watched them go.Read More rock me mama
Death is all around us at the present moment. Covid is taking people we know, or it is feeding fears of our own death. For me, Will is a reminder that death can be a celebration, even when the circumstances argue otherwise.Read More In Celebration of Dying Young
Twitter has this beautiful imperfection and permanence to it; you cannot edit a tweet. So writing a story on Twitter – especially the way I write, compelled – is a particular kind of challenge in terms of awareness and seizing the flow.
Perhaps you have read my words of childhood listening? Me as a small ball on the floor, soft, red blanket methodically tucked around so as to secure myself from the wolf who was spinning on the record player as the horn section.Read More source
. . . . the realization when you look back is that you have moved forward, in both what you have accomplished and in how you have made mistakes.Read More in tens
We knew nothing of the slow growing cancer that was also with us. And your antics spoke of the discomfort of anniversaries, of not knowing how two people could dance in a celebratory space.Read More Big Bearded Heart
Maybe having my baggage checked isn’t about putting it away, but rather opening it up to take a look-see at who it is that I am sharing . . .Read More carry on