And then like a pool cue, his inner child propelled mine forward with a slow roll and a pocket.Read More armadillo
I suppose the real fire
began to emit
when grown up
really turned around
and clasped a small hand.
We don’t talk about how relationships never end …. it feels … like reaching through air.Read More Death
My knuckles are bone inflamed.
Skin, Ponds soft
Short, red nails
Perhaps an opal
No. Brown-yellow topaz.
“You realize we are sisters again, now that we are free.”
“Yes,” she said.Read More star born
I ground myself into the earth.
I gave her back. Too.
When my own was born.
I gave much back.
So I could mother.
I love you. Your forehead; my lips. Your rings; my giving. Your lifeless body; my ring. My ring; your body leaving. My longing; your pinkie finger. My decision; topaz side by side. I love you.Read More Pinkie
The wound, the wound. You know that bearded man, the one who died? The one who died angry, who wrapped himself around me and I led him out? Well it’s been a year now and I’ve been angry (again). He never said good bye.Read More Narrative on a Wound
Grief and joy are opposites. Except that grieve is the preferable word because it is not static. And if you let it live all of its lives, joy is a word that whispers constantly. And softly.Read More (no) superhero