Afties on Aldrich
This is a separate world. Lust and Lady Gaga, gays and theys. “We’re FOX News’ worst nightmare!” Someone shouts with a thrill.
“I am not afraid to be seen trying.”
So much of finding my way in writing, in work, in relationships, has been to try something and see if it works. Many times, it doesn’t.
Fleetwood’s Golden Shovel
“and the songbirds keep singing, like they know the score/and I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before” – Fleetwood Mac, Songbird – You were carrying groceries and Asking about a news story from yesterday when the Little guys stopped and made us listen. Those songbirds! Above, perched on the broken…
poetry: the drive home
the drive home highway 19 changed its speed limit last month and finally caught up with the rest of the county. you always did 65 anyway, so it hardly matters. the big steer thirty feet above the interstate gas station is looking worn these days—could use a new paint job and a few more spots.…
Lines scribbled on a Sunday and reformed into Monday’s poem for class. sunday bring your to-go cups and farmers market flowers. the cold wine from the sink. give remembrance to your 2am songs, your light beer cheers and the brewery dog named Archimedes. give hands to block sunlight, gritted with sunscreen, and others to hold…
New Year, More Writing!
It’s been a while. I haven’t felt like anything I have to say has crystallized and I’ve been so busy in the “growing” phase of life that I felt like I couldn’t speak to it yet. Everything was moving so fast that at many times this fall, I was simply doing my best to hold…
The Apartment Gremlin
Working from home alongside someone, and spending such extended periods of time in quarantine together creates a unique routine. I think we’ve all developed habits with our roomies (partners, friends, pets, etc.) that likely never would have existed if we weren’t stuck together for so long. There’s something beautiful in that to me. The wandering…
Monday Mornings + Mary Oliver
Musings from this spring. Sage and peonies, Monday mornings are yours. The bakery doors locked, the Insta-mommies running errands and too busy to post. An alarm that finally doesn’t need setting. You trim flowers in the sink as their stems splay out across old cereal bowls and semi-rinsed recycling. The local news hums quietly in…