Poetry at 50, in the US, as a woman [white], 2021, during a pandemic, in a glorious & painful spring, a flash poem, in four parts

1. Our flags always fly at half-mast now.Wide and unhealed wounds on high for the world to seeflap dripping loss and pus rains down into the public square. Below themwhite men, whips still in handand a few hard-yoked women, their heads downplodding alongfacing only...

On befriending wonder and unleashing playfulness: a story, a trailer, and two new books

We’ve had one hell of a fall and winter here. We helped Mom move into a memory care home where she’ll have the round-the-clock, large community support she now needs. We’ve been moving with our own grief and helping each other, and Mom and Dad, with...

How to Be Heard by a Total Asshole

Be quiet for gratitude. Give yourself time to notice the privileges sent your way today. Not everyone is so fortunate. When you see how lucky you are, you show up humble. When you see how lucky you are, you can listen and connect. Lose sight of that and in one breath,...

The Voice of Unease

One day I will hear the voice of unease before her tears fall. I will take her small hand, slow down, allowing the ample time she demands to reacquaint us with this lucky life. And when I do, we will see a neighbor teaching her dog how to dance. We will notice nervous...

The Big Nothing

I learned something strange and wonderful this winter: How significant a change I feel the need to make in my life has a fairly direct proportional relationship to how many days I’m willing to do nothing to get it. Yes, nothing. There is a time and place for action...