Sunday, November 23, 2014


it is the same every time.

in the beginning......

there is interest, and novelty.
there is a passion for the energy, a thirst for character, your character.
there is wonder and imagination

and the middle....

the middle is filled with hard work, gulping vast quantities of time and sweat.
there are words and songs
there is movement, sometimes dancing
there is dedication

and the end,

the climax of applause.
there is appreciation, sometimes flowers.
there is release, and respite.
and there is sadness.

it is over.
curtain closes
the applause dies.
you go home.


Tuesday, October 7, 2014


her grief was something like a blanket of nothing.

it didn't keep her warm.
but it prevented her from reaching out to anyone and kept her insulated from the
                stumbling, misguided condolence of others.
the memories were warm.
                                but painful.

the nothing was comforting in it's nothingness.  it had no expectations.  it bred no weight.

it was a safe void in which to exist, in which to incubate. until she could survive
                outside of it.

a gross, tragic metamorphosis.  a mother who has lost her child.

Saturday, October 4, 2014


it was cold last November.

stormy and rage-filled. all the weather.
all the time.

things were broken. and lost.

and I am still a bit broken and a little lost.
and it is sometimes difficult to remember.
not because it is not there, but because I wish it wasn't.

now it feels so far away, 
               but November is coming again.


Wednesday, July 2, 2014

here and there

even before the first conversation,
a kind of gracefulness. he was graceful.
and I couldn't stop watching him.

he was easy and comfortable there.
            much more so than I.
and that was it: attraction.

there was something there.
a good laugh for my part, a witty remark on his.
and I came back again and again.

and sometimes there is still a good laugh.
between the wondering how I am still here.