Growing Babies

May 1, 2012 § Leave a comment

Of the human garden
Its equal opportunity
Short mercy
Swallow and dissolve
Ruby bullets
Capacity to know
Less successful at forgetting.
You want them to be silly hearts

Warm April

May 1, 2012 § 1 Comment

Boats back
On the dock
Rubbing sleepy eyes

To Not Look Back

April 3, 2012 § 6 Comments

The crows, floating

With the wire

Black licorice

Under their claws

Beseeched not to pause

The south, they went

For He Whose I Am

March 28, 2012 § 2 Comments

The bus had been 19 hours and 12 minutes of wasted time.

“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I obviously wasn’t thinking, judging by your reaction.”
“Go home.”

She was now seated on the bench at the bus station, under the pretense of waiting for the next bus. In her hands, she held the pocket watch.

“That one.”
“This one? Miss, this one is an expensive watch.”
“I know.”
“Ok. Cash or charge?”
“Is it extra to engrave?”
“No, Miss. It’s complimentary. I will get you a sheet of paper.”

For he whose I am.

Counting her money again, she hesitated from buying a ticket. Why did she think he would come and stop her? Just because she came so far? Held back this long, her tears were heavy, overripe and finally fell like devastating bombs on the dry skin of her hands.

Feeling better after her cry, she stood up with purpose to buy her ticket and return home. She would write the whole thing off as an experience, an adventure, and fodder for her work. Maybe she would even get a book out of it…

“Violet!” Then, he was there.


March 26, 2012 § 3 Comments

I love words


syllables long

That Explains The Butter

March 22, 2012 § 6 Comments

My husband found the loaf of bread hidden, near my side of the bed.

The Tip

March 20, 2012 § 2 Comments

The bus is the usual level of crowded, all two-seaters partially occupied by loosies, us solo commuters. The new buses have this step up section in the back and “kids” still flock there. But its early and there are only two, sitting together.

Today I end up in the very last seat before the back section. This particular driver is young, and a fucking mad man. I find myself bracing my knees against the seat in front of me and closing my eyes to ignore the risky driving. Buses are big. And I’m getting old.

He pulls into the station. Collecting myself, I accidentally pull out my earphones. I’m holding my bus pass and iPod since I’m not wearing my jeans or coat. No pockets. Add my purse to the mix and all of a sudden, I’m a frazzled nerd back in high school. Until the next thing happens.

The bus has been emptying the whole time, another rule violation. I’m in the seat closest to the back door, I should be first out. That’s my perk. But my hesitation has cost me my privilege, so now I’m awkwardly waiting, my OCD brain telling me I better be poised to go, otherwise the bus might leave without letting me off.

“Go ‘head.” This school aged child, taking the bus with her brother (presumably) is smiling at me from the top of the stairs and respectfully waiting for me to go first. I smile and in relief scramble off the bus. She exits after and runs happily to catch up with her brother, her whole life ahead of her.

I think of how I’d like to reward her. Here kid, I think, have one of my life experiences. Maybe it will save you some trouble.

Her back pack bounces as she runs…

There Should Be No Lines

March 18, 2012 § 2 Comments

Dream I

March 17, 2012 § 3 Comments

She would run from the house, lifting her rough skirts to increase her speed. To get there. The shouts of the sisters would echo, but she would ignore them and laugh, casting her eyes up to a blue sky. The sound of the tall grasses played drums on her tall boots. She would get there, she would. Defying all the rules, she would make it to the place, the illusion he had bloomed in her earthen mind. She would search the forest, wondering if it was all a Victorian fairytale, had she burned her bridges in a free fall for no reason, no promise.

But in her dream, he was there. His clear eyes darted to the side and she saw the carvings. And then he was gone again. She felt with her finger tips and the wood still hummed and burned with life. She read it like a map and was off.

A new course charted.

So She Says II: A List

March 15, 2012 § 2 Comments

Let me get you started:

Good mother, wife and friend.

Gifted writer.

Believer in fairies and fate and God.

Dreamer who hasn’t lost her faith in love.

Where Am I?

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