bird, apple, orange

Bird, apple, orange. I’m happy to be torn. Into so many pieces. They see me. Different directions. The refraction. Light on my edges. The kids’ drip, drip, dripping faucet. The bathroom sink. My little boy is 15. He has a razor and shaves. My little girl is 11. She wears eye shadow sometimes. They are … More bird, apple, orange

distillation

You know how you wake up with a song in your head and it sticks there while? What if you put on the headphones and played that song? And what if you did it every time you woke with a song in your brain? Would it change the course of your day? I think the … More distillation

freewriting blasphemy

(Recently, I asked my students to experiment with freewriting…just letting words roll out from wherever they come. So, I thought I would do the same.) I don’t feel like being metaphorical or creative or moving this morning. I want to get on with the day, but it’s already here. Somehow, I get into it without … More freewriting blasphemy

crossing the road

Early Sunday morning. A car stops on State Street because a flock of geese crosses the road. They are doing what they’ve been doing for millions of years. Moving from Point A to Point B. They’ve experienced disease, drought, famine, and legitimate predators—not the weekend gun-jockeys that pop them off in parks during three-day hunts … More crossing the road

in the moonlight

I’ve made it home, and I’m coming to. In my bed. Fully clothed. On top of the covers. Someone’s coming up the stairs. Slowly. Deliberately trying to be quiet. But the old staircase is creaking and popping, giving them away, mapping their ascent to my room. I try sitting up, but I’m hung-over and still … More in the moonlight

the pit

In the kitchen. Taxes on my mind. Knowing I need to get them done because if done right, we’ll get money back. We need this money to live this life we’re living. I understand that the sum of your belongings means nothing. But once you accumulate and have, you expect. It’s ridiculousness at its best. … More the pit

color

We walk past the boat harbor. Sailboats bob in the bay. Purple and yellow flowers line the sidewalk as we pass the water treatment plant. They are not enough to take the mind and nose away from the stench, but the smell doesn’t bother us. It’s something we have come to know as home. I … More color