By |

Magda wrote her name in purple
while standing on her head.
Unsteady on her feet,
this way worked best for her.

The flour mill whistle blew
the day before tomorrow.
Comrades filed by, lunch bags opened wide.
Icy brews waltzed in their heads.

Brown-suited guards upright and stiff,
eagle-eyed for pilfered paper, pens and the like.
Blind to back pockets bulging
with white powder.

House wrens from sleek high-rise apartments flew past,
silver-gilded memes seeking shelter from wayward storms.

Waiting for the ink to dry,
Magda tap danced to Hey Jude,
those sha-na-na-na’s she knew so well by heart.

By |

Warmth of hot chai
in my favorite mug
sitting in a comfy chair
in the morning sun
the grind of Veranda blonde roast
coffee for husband’s day off
while puppy plays killer
with a teal-blue teddy bear

By |

I’ve always wished for a real, true friend
several hits soon became lonely misses
mama’s legacy fed my fears
and thus my non-belonging….

sisters make it look so easy
laughter, smiles, shared confidences —
downy feathers lying soft on chenille.

sustained connectivity,
somehow not my forte.

By |

the snow was deep
deeper than I’d anticipated
I had a long, long way yet to trudge.

sinking to mid-thigh,
heart making do despite the shock
to its otherwise dormant existence,
the whiteness around me,
the stillness,
beheld a loveliness
too profound to imagine.

if I died out here,
alone,
it would be a death
couched in serenity.

and who could argue with that?

By |

When do you
know
to let go
or even how to?

We reveal
our souls,
our art,
our passions,
our works of love
and revel in others’
out of joy
and respect
and celebration

yet nothing —
or very little —
circles back in return.

Does one
continue
to do
what is right
and lovely
with no thought
of recompense
and hope that awareness
will take root?

Or does one hunker down —
to thine own self be true —
with nothing more to give?

By |

stoplight, a gauzy green
continuum blockers on high alert
seafoam backlit by pearls of magenta
fantastic creatures tucked inside
for future endeavors

won’t you join the melee
and burrow in with me for good

or must I remain an endangered species
targeted not for any illustrious appeal
but, rather, for what I lack in contradictions?

By |

From Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now, the pain-body is “a negative energy field that can take us over, that feeds on our pain and wants our pain to continue and increase.” ~ Ordinary Genius, A Guide for the Poet Within by Kim Addonizio

i draw my pain-body
i have defined it.
two distinct, indigestible flavors:
the Yawn and a Cheshire cat

Yawn: noun and verb
        a bored reaction or manifestation
        gracing the countenance of
        familial females
        i am dull, tedious
        frequently glossed over
        seldom heard

Cheshire cat: noun, fictional character
        smug & serene
        it sees, it knows, it adjudicates my crimes
        its mischievous grin
        mocks and flays me
        what were you thinking
        you stupid, stupid girl

i know what they look like
these inner wanderers
they walk the footpaths of memory
they spread doubt and reproach
                six sailor dresses come spring
        our inauthentic sisterhood
absence of nurture
        absence of bonds

unrepentant enemies of an unstable childhood
        grown into bewildered womanhood
these arbiters of conscience and action
now sprung to life
now, malodorous memes

exposed as they now are, i will adapt
seek recourse in myself
remove from them the power
they’ve held over me for far too long