I am grateful for the almost four years that I have posted here, but realize today – one day short of four years since Chris died – that discontent, joy, grief, lonely, alone, want, need, and love have all found their true homes in my soul.Read More but not forgetting
is for your people.
Now when she sees I seek alone
She comes to me, she asks
and focused your view,
pieces of me
were visible in
Firmly clutched yet
to the carrier.
. . . that my body has finally found a voice equal to my mind, and my heart is but their mediator.Read More Things I know . . .
As if picking up grief – in this case – was also picking up the mirror I kept trying to wipe clear, and turning it around . . . Pulling my shoulders back like a mother would tell a child that grew before the other kids, and boldly holding up my mirror like I could Say Anything.Read More Grief Love
are not hidden.
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
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