Fireflies

You may think that I have lost
touch with what it means to say
I love you
to you.

You may think it has become a reach
a plea
a desperate splaying of a
cavernous
and wounded
heart
to manipulate you into
wrapping me with
soothing arms.

You may think that it has
become an empty attempt
at chasing
fireflies of experience
past
to
hold them in a ball jar
and watch their glow
encapsulated.

You may think that it
carries not the fresh spring of
now, but
the tinny
metallic taste of water
held still too long.

You may think that it does not
run in field anew,
but lies in a huddled heap of sorrow,
anguished at moments past.

You may think that I have lost
touch with what it means to say
I love you
to you.

And even if all of those things are true.
There is more.

For the words I love you sing a
symphony of every longing
every joy
every hope
and dream
and laugh
and depth
and peace

that has been born, or has suffered between us.

It plays
a melody grounded in
roots, holding
all
of
those
things

from zygote to death thrall and
onto wings anew.

Beyond and because of
us.

A heart born a lifetime ago, reborn through devotion's pain.
Earning its patina and rooted
nonetheless,
takes flight.

I know
because





I love you.

I love you

Her:  I love you

Him: I love you

Her: I love you

Him: I love you. I love you. I love you.

Her: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Him: I love you

Her: I love you

Her: I love you

Him: I love you

Her: I love you. I love you. I love you.

Him: I love you

Her: I love you.  Do you love me?

Him: I love you

Her: Do you still love me?

Him: I love you

Her: I love you. I love you

Her: I love you

Her: I love you

Her: Do you love me?

Him: Yes

Her: I love you

Him: I love you

Her: How can I know that you love me?

Him: I love you

Her: I love you

Her: I love you

Her: I love you

Her: I love you.  Can you tell me that you love me?

Him: I love you

Her: Again?

Him:

Her: Please?

Him:

Her: Do you love me?

Him: I do

Her: I love you.  Please tell me you love me.

Him:

Him:

Him:

Her: I love you

Him:

Him:

Her: I thought you loved me.

Him: I do

Her: Why don't you ever tell me?

Him: I did.

Her: I love you

Him:

Him:

Her:

Him:

Him:

Her:  I love you

A Small Frog

A small frog hopped through the yard.  It could hear the water in the pond, the sounds of the insects. It could see the green leaves, and feel the moist dirt under its toes and the yellow sun soak into its gentle skin.

And then, the frog saw the most beautiful thing. The most amazing, intoxicating thing that it had ever seen.  A flower, of pink and red and orange that sparkled in the sun. It sang a song so beautiful. It swayed in the sweet breeze and bent its crown low for the small frog.  The frog wept and crawled beneath the petals, so grateful.  It kissed the stem and breathed the fragrance into its lungs. The frog had never felt so good.  He danced around the flower and wrapped his long, tender toes around it.

The small frog did that for a long, long time.  The little frog began to fear that if it wandered from the flower, he wouldn't find his way back.  Or, that it would be gone and he would never find it again. He missed something, but he couldn't remember what it was. So he stayed and breathed and breathed, and danced and danced.

Soon, the fragrance of the blossom became weaker, the song not as clear. He didn't understand, and he was sad. He realized that he wasn't twirling in glee anymore, but the beautiful flower hadn't changed at all.

The sun and the leaves and the breeze and the insects were still there.
Right there.
But the little frog chose the flower, and would not look at the other things as he hid in the flower's shade. The small frog didn't realize it, but his little body had become fragile. His green skin not as vibrant.  His eyes not as clear.

The little frog had forgotten that the flowers are just part of all of what is beautiful in the yard, and that small frogs need all of the beautiful, not just the flowers.
Fearfully, he hopped to pond, and felt the sun pierce through him.  He filled his small frog belly with insects and rolled in the lush, green grass.
It felt good.

And when he looked across the yard, he saw that the flower was still there.  He could still hear its song, and smell its petals, and feel its beauty.

And he was glad.

In An Instant

I wonder when I'll go.
I wonder what it will feel like.

I wonder if time will pull me in a slow arc over
expectation of loss
and days and days of goodbyes
too painful to say out loud.
Or if I will be swept away in an instant
leaving only a heap
of the me that I thought I was.

I wonder if I'll know
that night meanders toward me and
if I'll welcome it with a peaceful resignation.
If I'll hold the hands of those who have
walked in my life's heart
and let their fingers slide slowly
off of mine.

Or if, like a whip, I will find myself
somewhere else
watching.  Goodbye already outside of
my grasp.

I wonder what it will be like
when I go the way
that all have gone before.

One day
someday
one day

I'll know.

Alphabet

Arisen from the 

Banal of

Creating

Day to day,

Every moment

Flying by.

Going from 

Here to there,

I wondered where you were.

Joker

Kind

Lover

Mellow

Never ending something,

Over the 

Presence of all I had known.

Quiet wondering as to whether a 

Real

Sweet

True love might be

Under the 

Very next stone.

Willing it to land on the

X.  And then, there came

You.

Zing.

yellow light

yellow light
against the fence behind my house.
yellow light that beckons night.
yellow light that reminds me of color, and the sinking of it into nothingness.

yellow light
that haunts me
and
calls me
just the same.

Tapestry

Sometimes something reaches in and pulls out
the threads attached to
the
feelings connected to a person
the people
the ones
who have taken up residence inside of my heart.

They aren't fleeting. Or temporary.
They've woven themselves mercilessly into
who I am.

The feeling is so hard to describe.

It's a wailing of my spirit
a longing for
a needing
a knowing
a
dance that whips my hair behind me and knocks the breath out of me
while it breathes life into me
just the same.

Sometimes it hurts.

But mostly it makes me grateful
to be alive
in this life.

Grateful for

every             single           thread

that has made up this

tapestry.

Rainy Days

Rainy days
just make me wonder
where the sun be shinin' now......

Rainy days
they bring asunder
the sadness that fills our hearts
sometimes....

Rainy days
grey softness  covers
as I hide beneath its heather mist
and thunder rolls
singing our heart's
felt demise....

Rainy days
they
make me wonder
if everyone else is feeling it too...

Rainy days
the make my heart cry
knowing
that it just has to feel this way
sometimes.....

Ever Think

Ever think you've got it all together
and you just keep moving
toward
away from
here and there to where you think you
need to want to have to
go.

Ever think that you
put one foot in front of the other like you've always been
told that you should
and trusted what is coming next
watching it work
not work
fall apart
smoothly sail
but you don't really
know.


Ever think you've got the tools and
you know that
from the outside
from the eyes of all the others
that are watching you from their vantage points
into the view master that you've created
and you wonder if they can tell
that it doesn't feel as
nice and easy and perfect and charmed
as it looks through the lens of your iphone.

Ever think you thought you knew what you were doing
and then
a page turns
and you realize that
you have no idea
what you're doing
at all.

It Laughs.

I spin my thoughts
grabbing air
with certainty and
forming it into the shapes that I want it to hold.

Futile act,
and the wind

it laughs.


I reach into the careening stream and
will the movement to promise me
that it will travel just the
way that I want it to.

Determined girl,
and the water

it laughs.


I stretch my arms into the sky
my paintbrush in hand
sweeping color into the
above
sure that it will turn the
very hue
that I dream.

Bold attempt,
and the clouds

they laugh.

Sanctuary

From when I was nothing
in the moment I became

something

cells breaking into building into me.

From nowhere
somewhere
where
I came into your hiding place.

my sanctuary.

In a moment that
not even you knew
a silent burst of me
from dream to being
I was held in warmth

soft
love
red
dark
you.

my sanctuary.

In a secret not even you yet knew
your body my walls
my buffer
protected me from all that might harm
as I grew
from a something
into a something
into a something

new

my becoming
certain and loved
in

my sanctuary.

As my being grew
larger
able to hear you, feel you, know you.
The walls whispering that I might have
to soon leave
and see where it is that I came.

Violence and tumult
pushed pulled
forced and longed for and
loved and
coerced
softness gave way to harsh
and soothing darkness to light.
I mourn

my sanctuary.

My passive fish lungs failed
and in a heave of death
this planet blew life into my body.
So confused, wordless questions.
Where
Why
How
Is this the end of

my sanctuary.


Newness of angst in tears
down my tiny face
and in the face of
who's arms
surround and sooth
her breast my nourishment
her skin my clothes
her voice my song
I have fallen in love with

my sanctuary.

As I learned my boundaries
you were there.
My voice
you were there.
My song
My fears
My pain
you were there.
My growth
you were there.
My art
you were there.
My mistakes
My learning
My falls
you were there.
My wings
you were there.
My leaving
My returning
you were there.
My choices
My hurt
My children
My successes
My risks
My failures
My life
you were there.
My life
you were there.

my sanctuary.

And then, as I had chosen you so many
years before
I chose you again
and I choose you
again.

my sanctuary.

In my heart, you began to release
the stronghold that you have always had
on life.  On yours. On mine.
In slow steady moments lost to forever
I have watched you take steps
away from
who I have always known you to be.
I long for

my sanctuary.

As I sit close to you
and hold your hand.
As I hold close the you that you will always be to me.
I love you more than I
ever thought
possible.

and I know
beyond any shadow
that

You will always

be


my sanctuary.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day

I've always said that days that are calendar-ized are
man made. Meaning given not by life, but by someone else.
Yet, they come around as the sun rotates and I feel air as my butt finds metaphorical earth
after my legs are kicked out from under me.

I feel silly being public about missing my mother.
You get it.  I say it enough.
She's been gone for 37 years.
Get over it.  How much can it actually pain me at this point?

Sometimes I want to ask myself those very things.

and much of the time, it doesn't hurt.  but then a day comes
and the calendar says that we are all to sit and think about
our mothers.

And I can.  I do.  I am.

She was so beautiful.
Everybody loved her. That's what everyone says.
She was likable.
She was talented. She was loved.
I didn't have her very long.  My sister had her for even less time.
And I don't have a lot of memories.

I remember her making dinner when American Pie was on the radio
as Carrie and I sat at the round table with the bright yellow vinyl table cloth
waiting. The walls were wallpapered with yellow zig zag fabric.

I remember her hair. It was so pretty and simple.  Her face so warm and pretty.
She didn't have to try hard at all to look that way.

I remember her making bread dough ornaments with us in the kitchen for Christmas.
We sat at the Shakey's table in the breakfast nook.

I remember eating spaghetti at that same table. The whole family.  Candles were lit
for ambiance. Could that be why I'm so nuts about soft lighting?

I remember snippets of more.  The memories are like snapshots that I might find in one of the almost too faded and worn by years gone by to really be able to look at anymore photo albums.

She was a good mom.
Maybe I don't have enough data to know that for sure, but for 10 years, she was a really good, warm, loving, all-in mom.  It broke her heart that she knew she would die when we were young. It still breaks mine.

There is more to Mother's Day.

I have a step mother, Maxine,  that has been a lovely and stable presence in my life since I was 12.  I have aunts that I love like mothers. I have Anna, who is as much like a daughter to me as I will ever have. I never met my mother-in-law; she died when Eric was 21. I have a step-mother-in-law who is sweet and lovely.  My sister is an amazing, real mother to Hudson and MyLinh. So many of my best friends are mothers to their heart-filled kids. One of my friend's mother is fading to the unrelenting sorrow of Alzheimer's.
The world is filled with amazing, painful, gone, sick, loving, courageous, tender, nurturing, real, complicated mothers. Just the thought of all of the mother stuff takes my breath away.  In a good, and in a not good way.  All rolled into one deep breath suck.

I have a hard time just saying, "Happy Mother's Day" as a blanket statement.
There is so much wound up in the word mother.
My wish for all of us is that we hold those relationships, those memories, and those feelings close, and give ourselves a break if it's not easy.

I miss you, mom.

Honest

I still think about what it could be like.
If you were someone
that wanted
to have something
worth having.

I still start to plan on calling
and wishing
that we could talk about
what happened.
why.
what if.
I'm sorry.
Let's change it.
I love you.
We can start today.
Yes,
I've always loved you.

I still hurt knowing that it's rarely been you
that reached
or called
or remembered
or tried
or asked for forgiveness
or just made a fucking effort
at
all.

I still wonder what you've been thinking
all of these years.
Why my heart hasn't

mattered     enough    for     you    to     love     me.

Why you haven't reached or called or tried or remembered or taken
responsibility
for the fact that you were
the adult and
it wasn't my job
to keep you in my life.

But I did.

I still long for that feeling
when I was a child
and I looked at your
cool
strong
charming
dazzling smile
intoxicating handsome way
and thought
you'd be there forever.
Just like that.

I still sweep up pieces of my heart
from all of the
days moments years events milestones
that you gave away to someone else
and instead
sat in the dingy tv glow
with your lover in a bottle
while


i


grew


up.


I still wish for the father I always hoped you'd be
and
as the years
stack upon one another like
bricks and boxes and dusty repeats of things I have seen
again and again and again.

I wish
I wonder
I long
I weep
I try to make sense of how you could love me so
little.

and

I wish you didn't make it so easy
to try
to
forget.

Feet Grounded

I saw you in the corner of my eye
I was simply doing little things that I do
nothing special
nothing expected
stepping forward in contented banal.

and I felt you sweep softly into view
familiar presence
and grab my hand.
Your eyes caught mine as if to ask
if I might join you
and without time for response, you jumped into the sky
my hand held tightly in yours
my body slid into upward motion
and we flew.

For days and weeks it seems
above the everything
safe together
wings laced as we felt the wind at our faces
and the perfection of love
only laughter and flying and joy
with little thought of the
whats and hows and dos and needs and nails and hammers and wallets and calendars and.....

we flew and flew.

One day, our feet touched down.  Our eyes connected, we laughed
at just how breathtaking it had been.
And
the whats and the hows and the dos and needs and nails and hammers and wallets and calendars
beckoned.

Still our wings reach to touch, and we fly with one another.
In and around the hows and the dos and the needs and the nails and the hammers and wallets and calendars.
The air still at our faces.

It is finding the laughter and the flying and the joy
with feet grounded
and trust that the sky is certainly there
where our love lives.

I will always reach for your wings.

Trouble

If I were a child,
being parented by myself,

sitting low in a high back chair
finger wagging at me
by my very own self.

lectured for
patterns repeated
again and again and again
asked and pleaded with
warned and cajoled
threatened with consequences for

choosing yet again
to do
say
react
whine
scream
throw tantrum over temper tantrum.

If I were a young subject
sitting in front of a very large desk
an ominous me sitting a front.
my smallish legs dangling still from a chair
much too large
hands shaking on my lap.
Hearing that big voice tell me that my
choices
my attitude
my failure           once again           to do what I have been asked.

If I were that girl
getting a talking to from
the part of me that knows better.....

I think I'd be

in

trouble.

Feel it

I hope you can feel it.

The center place in you that is connected to something,
everything....
tethered to the everything.

I hope you can feel it.

I hope that when you wake in the morning
when you look at your children
when you touch your lover
when  you make a new friend
when you sweetly care

I hope you can feel that you are touching

love.

That word just never captures it.
Maybe it's because it's been so tired by the uses that we've given it.
When really,
it's not elusive
or small
or tinny
or what you find in $11.75 movies.

It's the

everything.

when you close your eyes, and there is nothing else but you
and what you know and what you feel and who you love.  It's there.

I hope you can feel it,
because it is so beautiful.

I hope you can feel it.  

The color and the love and the flow and the peace and the patience and the quiet
that resides
everywhere you look.

I can feel you not believing me, as life can be hard
and pointy
and painful
and lonely.

You're right.  It can.

But it's there.  I promise.


I hope
you
can

feel it.

Dragging Lightly in the Sand

In the stir of the day
with every possibility swirling about,

I can feel you.


In the movement of life,
footsteps into running,
wind of fast against my face,

I can feel you.


In the questions
and
the
certainties,
the
scary
and
the
comfort,

I can feel you.


In the past                       and the future,
the    nevers        and                                    the always,

I can feel you.


I bend my back across the strength of your arm,
invisible across every mile between us,
my hair dragging lightly in the
sand.

Your heart's fortitude suspends me.

I can feel you.
and.

I.
am.
yours.

Broken Heart

Its beauty
breaks my heart.

The sweet faithful reaching to a father that they can clearly see,
and I'm not so sure.
As I look at pictures of places
I have never seen
beautiful artistry, scrollwork pocked
by bullet hate
people I have never known
on their desperate knees.


The questions
break my heart

I hear them being asked, all over.
Whispers and screaming fists pounding fingers tightened
around throats until the vocabulary that they do not know
for the very same God disappears.

Certainty.
exclamation.
assurance.

and

I       can't       buy       it.


The silence
breaks my heart.

Staring into ebony sky feeling forever
never ending
no wall with a sign that says "EXIT"
The ever drip of knowledge
confuses with its vast mass
but to me
points only to

holy.


The Love.
It
breaks my heart

into so many pieces they can't be counted
As I do my thing
working creating talking impacting living
and he watches from across the space
deep in his own conversation
about life or family or art or doing or being and
completely ok on his own
he smiles a knowing smile at me.
No ownership
only admiration.

I sit in this
everything
so perfect in its chaos
and all I feel
is gratitude

for my broken heart.

O L D

Five days and thirty-five years.


moments and newness
and history and
frost edged memories
not sure if they're real or
created from the cast of characters
and sets that I remember.

Digging deep into the storage of my
awareness
to find pictures of people as they were.
As they are.

Interesting
as one ages.
when I was a kid, I'd look at a person that was
the age that

I
am
now

and be sure

they just don't get it.  
How could they?

They're

O L D.

Morning Must

morning must

show you naked
unadorned without
pretense
no coiff or thought to how the world might perceive
simply you.

morning must

tease you into awareness
a soft
float skimming the surface
ripples from tiny thought circles
from somewhere else to where you are.

morning must

create a cliche grey mist
cashmere
toussled hair
sleepy eyes
warm, sleep caressed
skin.

morning must

hold you like hot coffee
eggs over medium
night stretched tshirt
sheets wrapped in folds around
stretched legs.

morning must

invite you to the most
beautiful version of the day
before questions have chance
to root.

morning must

be
lovely.

Propelled

When I was a girl, I would see that glint
that something,
and I would be propelled into
that very simple thing.

He must be mine.

Two initials embraced within the red outline of a crayon heart
an arrow drawn through its center.


When I was just a little older, I would feel that               something.
That wordless
unexplainable something
and be propelled into combustable need.

Orchestrated sitting next to him in a bar
the beat of some earthy heart thump pulsing through
legs touching under sweaty drinks

electric

to find ourselves in a messy knot
candle lit
messy pile of discarded socks and sweatshirts.



When I was a young woman, I would notice

that

person.

Tall and strong, responsible and handsome
makes people laugh at parties and everyone wants to be around him.
I would be propelled
into planning for him to be my Camelot.
Imagination drawings of white picket fences
carrying me over the threshold
longing for me while I stir something on the stove
mowing the lawn and inside at afternoon's exit
his sexy day worn tshirt, my prince.

When I was a woman seasoned some, I would sense that secret smile
as I glanced at someone and would be propelled to wonder
if maybe it was he that
would
could
should
save me from the everyday
work
monotony
mundane
washing clothes cooking meals never catching up falling into bed too tired to make love.


I am a woman.
no longer a girl
no longer on any hunt for
someone
something
it
him.

enticed by my own mind and spirit
surrendered to complexity and layers of grey and nothing really living inside the box that has been
drawn for us.

I still notice.

I notice smart, and sexy, intelligent and creative, tender and strong.  I notice love and security and joy and comfort. I notice loyal and artistic and surrendered and inspired and kind.

I notice.

Thing is, I no longer feel propelled
to anything in particular.

I feel my heart unzip and allow my life to unfold.
I bend to integrity, and honesty, and all of the corners of life that I might have never looked into.
I rejoice in the love that I have and for every love that sneaks into my heart.

Every love is a new color.

A friend.
A muse.
An inspiration.
A memory.
A texture.

Perhaps I am
indeed
propelled,

but
to nothing
in

particular.

So Much Going On

So much going on.

Not to be seen with the eyes
of others.
For to them, it looks of calm and peace.
Glittery pics of pools and sleeping dogs,
holding honey hands
and basking in a bath of plenty.

So much going on.
The going on lives inside of me.
It is made up of

Thoughts,
Questions. Certainties.
Growth. Wonder.
Loss. Pain. Art.
Stagnation. Fear.
Resolve. Decision.
Newness. Panic.
Wanting.
Unresolved creativity.
Undiscovered
everything.

So much going on.

It lies in the processing of what I do, and what I haven't. It lies in
friendships old and new.
What to keep and what to release.
Holding tight to loves gone by,
and looking at the ghostly space that they
held, but
which will never truly have gone.
To me.
It lies in the fear that I am not loved. Judged. Eyes rolling from around the world
so hard
that I feel them crash into me.

It lies in wanting to be      so      me,
so ok with being

me

that I can't even perceive
of
ugly thoughts.

It lies in wanting to know
to dig deeper
to fall with breathtaking
abandon
into

art
you
friends
spirit
deep, deep love
exotic peoples
desperate giving
breaking through self imposed lids on metaphorical jam jars
learning
dancing into dizzy amazing
shifting
adding
exploding with color joy yummy sexy fullfilled connected awe-inspiring
good.


more.
of.
me.


So          much         going          on.

Morning

I love the sound of water moving.
It sounds like soft wet
bells that don't really ring.
They blurb and bubble and dance a song
that no one can sing
but it.
Gently touching
some secret place inside
of us.


I love the sound of leaves
bumping against
one another.
Even if they bump hard
wind bends branches
whipping,
the violence of leaves bouncing against one another
ferociously
sounds soft to
me.


I love the feel of air on my skin
when it is just the right
coolness
just the right
speed.
invisible caresses to my body and joy that comes from
not my mind.

The Way it Is

Seems like there's always something going on.
Something to recover from.
Something to work through.
Something to challenge and to conquer.

Seems like there's always something
looming.

A heartbreak.
A disappointment.
A driver that gets in my way.
A question that I cannot easily answer.

Even just after I
see
the most beautiful
golden
fire
rise of our star

or

the most delicious hug
or breathtaking connected conversation with a friend
or a phone call
I've been waiting for
but didn't even know it

or

a quiet, full of nothing and everything moment
while I rub the belly of my
innocent dog.


There is something.

The memory of that time that hurt so much,
The rejection from that person that I thought I needed.
The loss of what I thought was the core of me.
The boss that doesn't appreciate me.
The midnight trips to the freezer for ice cream.
The argument from a million years ago that still echoes in my mind.

There is                  always                    something.


Seems like that's just the way it is.

Experience beauty
and
work through stuff that challenges me.

And maybe
that's just the way
it is
supposed to


be.

Kingdom

King of his world
All the people all the things
under his capable command.

The world outside

just a story
that someone else tells.

He keeps the walls of
his fortress
strong
and impenetrable,
his subjects adoring and loyal.

It had always been enough.

For a moment,
or just a little longer,
he was distracted.
His eyes averted from
his kingdom.
He allowed his mind
to wander from the painting that
is his world.

Like a hook in his fleshy cheek,
he was pulled.
His breath taken away as
he saw
what lie outside of
his kingdom.

Humbled and afraid
intrigued and intoxicated,
he knew that
there was more
than what existed inside.

But
what of
those that
looked to him
for their everything?

Their hope.
Their love.
Their adoration.
Their loyalty.
Their need.

Ultimately, he could not continue to look out of the opened window.
He could not bear the thought of their knowing that
he wanted more than his kingdom could provide.

So he grabbed the edge of that tiny, opened wooden door
that showed him the wonder
of more.
He swung it slowly on its hinges
and
he
closed
it.

A sliver of light shown through the edge of the door,
yet the latch
as it sunk into its lock
made an audible sound.

He knows that there is wonder outside of his kingdom,
but he will not taste it today.

Too Expensive

It was delicious
intoxicating
wonderful
perfect in so many ways.

She loved it more than almost everything.

but

It wasn't free.

He paid in stress, fear and risk.
She paid in money.

It wasn't free.

Interestingly, he lost the ability to pay before she did.
But she would have.
Eventually.

That beautiful thing that made her lose

her head
her heart
her mind
her thoughts
her reason

is no longer being funded.
Not
with money and not with risk.

She keeps kicking it
shaking it
screaming at it
grabbing onto the nothing of it
crying into the space that it held

trying to make it
continue running.

It ran so well.
so perfectly.
like a dancing ballerina inside a music box
playing the most delightful and exotic tune.

The thing is,
and what she failed to accept
is that it could not
keep running

without
payment.

Not this time around.

Her heart does not understand
that this thing
that was like a dream
and was so perfect
didn't belong here

for now.

Though she knows
with everything that she is
that it lives truly in a
somewhere that she cannot get to,

It was simply too expensive
to be here
now.

Beautiful

Beautiful.

So many things are probably beautiful

that I can't see that way at all.

How come I sense that the things that hurt

and make me cry and hold my heart tight

and want to break apart into 

a million pieces

are 

somewhere

somehow

beautiful?

Is it that my scope and vision are simply too small to see?

That I see only the tiniest part of what is 

and describe it the way I have learned and been taught to describe things?

Have not the most painful and desolate times in my own life brought me to new 

places?

New views?

New awarenesses and abilities?

It is easy to look at a clear blue sky

the punch pink blossom of a bloom

the perfect smile of an unblemished baby

the waving green stalks of corn in an Iowa cornfield

a butterfly alit on a blade of grass for just a moment

and see beautiful.

But what of the storm that threatens?

The browned and dry petals fallen and forgotten?

The curled lips of a cleft palate on a child forgotten in an orphanage?

Of the burnt fields of a farmer wronged?

The broken wings of a life taken too soon?

To pry away the grey and dirt, the death and sorrow, the disappointment and fear

to find the hope of 

new.

That is far more difficult.

What if beautiful lives in the seed

of

everything?

If it is so,

might I

be able

to 

see.

Beautiful.

Nestling

Just outside of our bedroom window, there is a small hole into the roof of our house. Each spring it has been home to baby birds. We listen to them chirp like crazy when their mother comes in to feed them. 

This morning, when we let the dogs out, there was a little nestling crying a fearful chirp on our patio. The thought of leaving her there to fend off neighborhood cats, or even the reality of abandonment in the heat of the day crushed me. I gently picked her up in a cloth napkin, her fuzzy almost feathers rustling in the early morning breeze and her sunshine yellow beak yawned open hoping for momma's food.

Funny where love can happen.

Eric dragged a stool to the spot where she must have fallen from her nest, and stood, reaching to coax her back into the roof with her siblings. We feared touching her directly and used a wooden spoon to nudge her toward the opening. For many tries, she did not move, the trauma keeping her still.

My mind spun, thinking of what we would do if she could not make it in.
But then,
her tiny foot grasped a wire and she pulled herself in. I lay back in bed holding my breath as I looked out the window, hoping we hadn't disrupted anything beyond repair. A few minutes later, momma alit on a wire outside the nest, a worm in her mouth and in she went.

I breathed again.

People

I'm one of those people. the ones that talk,

reach,

send,

give,

create for
others.

I love other people.

I love their uniqueness

the texture and result of their choices

their voices

what they have to say.

Sometimes, when what they have to say differs

dramatically

from what I have to say...

well, that can be a challenge to appreciate

but in truth -- i do.

People fascinate me.

I love that each factor of our lives,

each choice,

each turn around a different bend

each surprise

each new moment

of

each

new

day creates a new pattern

an altered hue

a change.

I love reaching, and experiencing people.

I can discuss it in a way that makes me sound

altruistic and

painfully generous.

I can do that. Yet, in truth

I wonder if that is indeed the truth.

Not

altogether
I

am

sure.

For reaching and touching and connecting and giving and considering and loving and knowing and talking to and hoping for

others

does a couple of things for me.

One, it enriches me. It provides for me

new texture new shadows new sounds and music new things to consider

new ways to approach.

my.

life.

I love that. More than anything I believe.

People.

weird, sexy, wild, courageous, fearful, learning, wondering, judging, waiting, trembling, heart-filled, musical, conservative, cutting-edge, loving

people.

It does another thing for me as well. The darker side of all of this

people

other

than

me

focused

living.

It keeps me from the silence.

that is solely and completely inside my being
with
no
other
sound
but
my
own.

I know that I can live my life without really being all that concerned with that fact.

But there is a part of me that knows

that spending time in

this place is part of the next....

deeper....

wiser....

experience for me.

for all of us.

Being completely alone for me is not an exercise is fear -- as it is for some.

It is an undertaking of courage.

It is in the silence of me

that my spirit pauses and my mind

trembles.

Certainly my mind.

My mind loves to be busy... reaching, giving, considering, solving. But to send my mind to the still, quiet waters of my own being? With nothing to distract? Well..... you're asking
quite
a
lot.
So, I look at the yin and the yang, the up and the down, the soft and the hard, the you and the me of my life. and when I do
I long
to know
both.
To embrace the texture and the sound and the noise and the problems and the solutions and the music and the dance and the interaction of
others.
And, entwined with the patterns that live outside of the edges of my own mind
to know intimately.... my own, still silence.
Where i suspect
joys
and
secrets
reside.

Drop

in my life

i trust

that

the ongoing

gift.

the waterfall

of

friends

will continue.

drop.

by.

drop.

i trust

that

life

will honor

my request

for the next person

who will

open

my

eyes

and

bring joy

to my mind.

More colors

to the palate

of my experience.

thank you for being

a reminder.

and a new drop

of

color.

Heavy

I have a hard time when people don't love me.

It hurts when people don't want me

around them

in their lives.

I have a friend... Well, I had a friend.

Over some time, she was collecting complaints. Valid, I am certain.

She did not express them.

She did not choose

to have a hard conversation

with

me.

Instead, her complaints got very heavy.

Too heavy, too dense, too dark.

The bag that she kept them in became very heavy

and she couldn't see me any more.

Or, the me she saw through heavy, complaint laden eyes

didn't look like someone she wanted to be friends with anymore.

I have tried to open the door,

to say I'm sorry,

to own my actions and choices,

to ask forgiveness.

No.

Done.

Over.

It is a hard choice for me to understand.

Yet, it is her choice.

And because it is hard for me

I know that

there is much for me to learn.

That my worth is not tied to another's perception of me.

Stone

Time is beginning to stretch a bit, as I feel myself reaching

with one leg

from one stone to another, suspended above moving water.

Tempted to feel fear as I prepare to

change

again.

I have been on this stone for a little while

I remember when I first stepped on it.

All was new

and unknown

my mind a wide-eyed infant in a new place.

Learning to be me far away from my loves.

I have just a little bit longer on it.

To cherish those whom I have come to love.

To enjoy that which I have come to desire.

Friends

"Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies. ~ Aristotle

What exists between you and me
is the only thing like that
that exists
in all of creation.
There is the thing that is you
and the thing that is me

and there is then
the thing that exists between
made of the stuff of you and
the stuff of me.

like paints mixing on a palette
like lemon juice mixed into sugar water
like salt and pepper in a bowl together
like harmonies

forever entwined
having become something all it's own

between us.
It could and can and will
never
exist anywhere
between any other someones
ever
again.

What exists between you and me, friend,
is a thing

a living, breathing, dancing, speaking, loving, laughing, learning, being
something.

When we became friends, you and I,
life breathed into that brand new something

like air into a balloon

and it began to                             float

          and dance on the breeze

and bounce on the ground              along          a     path        in    Central    Park

and hide behind
                             cars

and tie to the branch of a high, high tree.

It became a something
that will always be.

Change has happened.

Change has happened.

That's almost funny to express. As...
When does change not happen?

Every moment in every place from Utah to the farthest reaches of the least known universe

Change is happening
now
always

without cease.


Change has happened in me.
In my world.
Change that challenges my deepest resistances.
My oldest fears.
My weakest link.
My most tender place.
Change, again, has come
to remind me that it always will.

It is not change that you can see
from where you are.
From where you sit, you see nothing different.
My body, my home, my family, my work.  Same.

Except
change has happened.
It's not change that I will explain
or describe
or divulge

but change indeed has come
in a dose that has raised my hackles and demands my attention and requires that I stand up and take notice of just what I had failed to see.

Change has happened.

Stephen Hawking said, "Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change."
Isn't it though.
Whether that change is the loss of the musculature, or the loss of a parent, or the end of an education, or the corruption of something trusted, or the leaving of a place, or the end of a faith.

It is the ability to face what is so
and build
rather than sink

to create
rather than be blinded

to observe
rather than be victimized.


Intelligence.  No one said it would be easy.


Change has happened

and I sometimes question my own intelligence.
One moment
brilliance and light.
The next
abject ignorance and the temper tantrum of a wild, flailing child in the darkness.

Change begins the very moment any thing comes into existence,
you see.
Even the things you stand on now, with the confidence of Caesar.
You raise your hands and expose your heart knowing that those things are yours, beyond any threat,
and always will be.
As you stamp your foot on the solidity of your

love
family
money
house
friends
job
health
expectations of others
faith
joy
stories

the cracks of change have begun.

Change has happened.

Exists.

Gonna try to hold my breath this week

and let the sand settle to the ground.

But just want you to know, that 

just like you, just like you can,

I can feel the most foundational feelings.

and that makes me feel better.

because no matter what.... you can't hide that from me.

No matter what words are used

and ideas are presented

and rules are garnered

and limits are set

what exists, exists, exists, exists.

Thank goodness.

Cuz' that will give me the courage

to 

wait,

and love you for where you are

and what you need

and who you love

right now.

forever

is bigger than

this.

Here's to you and 

all you hold dear.

Now.

and forever.

Forever.

Love.

How can something be so perfect and so big and so amazing
and
so painful and so lonely and so frustrating
yet
so wonderful and so needed and so everything
but
so hurtful and so misunderstood and so heartbreaking
?

Love.

How can something seem so permanent and so forever
and yet
be yanked away and leave a hole the size of Texas
but still
leave an imprint on top of the emptiness
that lets you
know that
the love really can't go anywhere?

Love.
It's forever.
Joy. Pain. Breath. Angst. Depth. More. Questions. Confusion. Precious Everything.

I
will
love
you
forever.

Love.

Let Me be Your Teacher, Girl.

Let me be your teacher, girl.

The pain of that which no longer is
is pain indeed.
It is painted with the blood of life and
experience.
It is submerged and soaked in the
love and intensity of the intoxicating dance
that brought you to this very point.


Let me be your teacher, girl.

Know that you are ok.
As the Seuss says,
"Don't be sad that it's over; smile because it happened."
And truly, my princess
it is never really over.
anything.
The energy that was, is and ever will be.
Once the brush has put it's stroke on the canvas, it will
always be there.


Let me be your teacher, girl.

The hole that you feel each time
another precious something
sinks into behind you,
it is not a hole at all.
It is simply the feeling of the tides
pouring out.
Allow the tide to be whatever it will be,
my, flower, and trust that when the
goodness fills again,
Joy will soothe you.

Let me be your teacher, girl.

Vast

Right now it just feels like the sound of my own voice screaming inside my head.

Hear me!
See me!
Let me out!

I want to feel the love I know is possible.

I want to express the exactness of what is inside of me in every way there is, creating a bridge from the inside of me to everyone else and there will be no not understanding. No translation necessary.


I want my words to matter
and yet
I know they do and they don't all at the same time.
There are millions of voices.
They have things to say, expressing their own inner understanding and turmoil and hatred and fear and discovery and wonder and trapped-ness.

Does everyone feel this way?
That there is this wholeness confined within the walls of who they are, and as hard as they try, they cannot share it completely.
It's like there is this vastness of wordless

color,
form,
light,
clarity

and there is really no way to share it.
I wonder if we all feel that way and we're looking for the bridge to one another in the wrong place.

I do.

I don't have room.

But see, I want to love you.
I love you.
I do.
But I don' t have room in my

mind
my
thoughts
my
home
my
life.

See.... I love you.
I do.
Really.
and I want to love you

I want to want you and love you and need you and consume you
but I don't have room
for you.
Except when I do.
Which is not
now.
But is sometimes.

I want to have you there
just where I want you
within reach
just within
the span of my touch.
But
I don't have room for you
today.
I have too many things filling up the room
in my
life
mind
thoughts
days
minutes
moments
and there is no room
for you
when you want there to be.

But I love you,
you see.

I do.

What matters?

What matters?
Me?
My thoughts?
Yours?
Everyones?

What matters?
Inventions?
Evolution?
Change?
Stuff?

What matters?
Mystery?
Things we name but cannot know?
Wonder?
Silence?

What matters?
Story?
Explanation?
Intuition?
Words?

What matters?
Things we think we know?
Experiences we have had?
Knowing others are experiencing things?

What matters?
Sharing?
Giving?
Creating?
Thinking?
Being?

What matters?

Birth. Death. Birth. Death.

Life

So beautiful
Surrounded by love and warmth and the sounds of life.
Always cared for
in my home.
My beautiful home.
I was exactly where I was intended to be.
So grateful and at peace.

Then.

There was pain
tumult.
confusion
uncertainty
fear

Violent push and pull.

All I had worked for
and been.
Everything I had known.
The only life I'd known.

Being torn apart
ripped from me.
Forces beyond my control
harshly carrying me
to a place I had never been.

So
Scared.

dying. dying. dying. dying.

The violence subsided.
The chaos became still.
I was somewhere new.
Different altogether.

I never could have imagined what it would be like.
I didn't need to be scared at all.

Exactly where I was intended to be.

Noise

Big world
so much happening
media inundation
unrealistic expectation
noise abounds

voices
yelling
traffic
guns
media

the pressure to be
something
anything
other than.

disappointment in exactly what we are.

I have bumps and lumps and aches and questions and anxieties and a car that needs new brakes and dog hair on my couch and a green pepper that has died a slow and painful death in my crisper and projects not completed and boxes in my garage not traversed in years and weeds peppering my garden and doubts about my faith and friends I haven't talked to in too long.

Not knowing that
the only thing
worth listening to
resides in a still
small
voice which can only be heard
when
we are quiet
surrounded by the knowledge that it is there.

Knowledge that the small place
isn't small at all
but is simply the everything
the source
the space and mystery and pulse of all that is and ever was
which
sits not only
everywhere

but also in you.

today, tomorrow

If I were to die
today
tomorrow

would you still feel me
where i was?

would the imprint
of me
last
for
awhile?

If I were to die
today
tomorrow

What would you remember about me?

That I was

smart
talkative
obnoxious
creative
opinionated
pretty
fat
talented
lazy
inspiring
happy
pushy
thoughtful
needy
surprising
underachieving
cool
loving
connected
?

If I were to die
today
tomorrow

would
the scent of my perfume linger?

the sound of my voice permeate the silence of my absence?

the shape of my face appear in your mind?



would

my words
continue to
make
a
difference

if I were to die


?

Just Close Enough

Just close enough to the heat
Just close enough to the pain
Just close enough to the pink red orange blue every color there is
dancing
between you
like lightning laced with sweet sorrow
and delight

Just close enough to hear your questions
Just close enough to feel your want and anger and joy and
tears
the feeling is so real,
full of the everything and of the anger, the adoration of someone else's humanity
and arrogance
and love
and thoughtlessness
and want
and perfection

Just close enough to see into the tunnel
cave
chasm
endless meadow of flowers of every color
Just close enough to know that what is there
is something
special
something dangerous

something real

Just close enough to know that no matter what happens
No matter how long it lasts
No matter how far you remain
the thing you fear and the thing you long for and question and want and run from
die for
has already happened.

Why Girlfriends are Important.

Woman:  Hey, let's talk. Let's hang out till the night becomes morning, tell each other our stories, our histories. We can try to figure our why we are the way we are and sit for hours just saying everything that comes into our heads, teasing out our fears and our anxieties and then coming up with ways to become our best selves. Let's talk about what we like about ourselves and what we don't. Let's trust in one another our deepest thoughts, telling each other what we love about the other and let's just revel in what the other has to say.  Let's do that, over and over and over, ok?

Man:  No.

Missing the Point

Sitting in the sun, feeling the yellow warm my freckled skin.

Right, but do you love me?



Eating a meal that teases my tingling tastes and delights me.

Well, that's all good, but do you love me?



Sitting on the bow of a boat, racing across deep blue wakes, wind whipping through my hair.

All good and everything, but... really... do you love me?



Laughing with a friend until my guts feel like they might bust.

Yep, that's super. I get it.  I have a question though.  Do you love me?



An hour in a hammock, reading a book that has me disappear into lands unknown.

Nice, truly.  I really dug that, I did.  Yet, do you love me?




Walking through the door to a burst of joyful "surprise!!!" and faces I adore.

Oh man, that was cool.  I'm not clear on something though.  Do you love me?




A walk through an art museum, intoxicated by the truth of others.

Nothing better, really.  I have a question though.  Do you love me?




Spending time with a friend, sharing, having real conversation, touching one another deeply.

Mmm. Yeah.... I see what you're saying. I hear you, I do. It's just....






Do you love me?

The Way I Want You To

I struggle.  angry. angsty because you don't do things
the way that I want you to.
You don't react to what I say or what I do or how I am
the way I want you to.

I get pissed off because in my mind, your words don't match your actions.
And mine is really the only version of life that matters, you see.
And so, therefore, I want you to act
the way I want you to.

Can't you see that I have an agenda
to create moments that have slipped into yesterday?
It's an important
undertaking.
And see, you are a character in my play, and it's important for me,
in order to experience life in my own particular desired way,

that you act

the way I want you to.


Listen, I can't imagine that you might have
a different way of seeing

or being
or thinking
or wanting
or loving
or needing
or growing
or expecting

than I do.  I'm sure that you want exactly what I do, exactly when I do.

See.

And that's why I want you to do things
exactly

the way I want you to.

Into View.

Lying next to my friend.
One who's been in the periphery of my life for as long as I can remember.
Wit and words dance as they always have
teasing me with what has always been, flirting with what
just might come into view.

I feel his hand brush across my hip, resting there
as we continue to talk.
Something new and soft.  Uncertain.
Creating a bridge for liquid honey to slide between
prickly
barbs of intellect and humor.

Bodies close.  Just enough space for heat to pass.
I loved the newness in that space enough to close it, pressing
my chest to his.
Like a curtain aloft, I could feel his life, his questions, his resignation
his desire.
My arms, my body, my mind surrounded him and watched the
lines in his furrowed brow dissolve
if only for a time        and
we talked, and felt, and shared.

Lying next to my friend.
One who's been in the periphery of my life for as long as I can remember.
Wit and words dance as they always have.
Soothing me with what has always been and what has come
into
view.

Listening

Listening
to
sounds.

Head cocked, stilling the canvas to hear
the sounds that give hint
to where I'm going
where I've been
who's been along for the ride.

sitting in heaps of pillow mountains
alone
feeling what is here
right
now.


What is here? Shhhh.


Feeling what was.
Where I was.
With whom.
The feel of the breeze that blew across my skin on that yellow day
alone in the grass.
The way touch felt
fingertips draping along my
white and naked skin
calling silent moans from a far away place.
Crack of thunder
whipping to my center reminding

me of

the sounds of metallic drumming music singing
in my ears
teasing my innocence with magnetic laughter
mocking
me from inside myself

titillation
in a garbage heap

Shhhh.

Sitting amidst white pillows
colored with present stillness
Thinking of what was.
Where I've been.

Listening
.

NFW

Sometimes there are just no fucking words.

Just feelings.
and I feels so damn deeply
and it hurts.

I want every single person I love
love
loved
ever

here.  in me. with me. near me. with me.
seeing me and loving me back.

now.

Sometimes there are no fucking words
and when I try to explain what is going on inside of me
I can't.
and I know I just end up sounding like a weepy, unstable mess.

It is messy.
and it's beautiful.
and it's fucking what I do
and how I feel life.

It's how I love
and how I need
and what I use
to color the day to day moment to moment.

Sometimes there are just no fucking words.

Air Drag

I'm impossible.  Honestly. Seriously. Incredibly. impossible.

I don't transition well emotionally.
This hurts, and it hurts even more because I know I'm the only one it hurts for.


I've noticed that some can move on to the next thing with slippery, effortless ease

the next day
the next event
the next person
the next conversation
the next view

I watch this skill with awe and admiration.

I turn my back and look over my shoulder
watching whatever it is that I am already
longing for.

get smaller
and smaller
and


I know that I'm physically removed from the place, the person, the...
but like a comet's tail
it clings to me and I to it, feeling it
drag on the air and keep me from slipping into the fast lane.

I feel the thing that is no longer here while seeing something completely new.
My heart has no idea what to do.

Luckily, I have been through this tunnel before and I happen to know that regardless of how entrenched I try to dig my heels in the clay of time's movement

I will come out the other side
just fine.

Lies

Don't lean on me.
I have nothing to offer.

Your opinion of me makes me crazy
and I'm just not what you see.
Stop making me feel like I might be wrong
about myself.

I have nothing to offer.

Ya see, I'm just not good enough,
and when you look at me with those eyes
that say I'm something...
Well, it makes me want to prove to you
that I'm not.

See, I have nothing to give
despite what you see.

You say you admire my talent,
but I know it's nothing special.
You want to hear my words, but you're simply
deluded.
You compliment my interests, but they
ain't all that special.

See, I know what you clearly don't.

I'm nothing special.

Orange Blossom Sound

Sliding through orange blossom sound
tickling baby pink skin
the sounds, colors that have no names
sneaking through the barriers that hold me together
my outsides, just an illusion

Your language, a dynamic textured tapestry
sounds that I never would have considered

I am learning it.

Show me things I haven't seen
Sing me songs that I have never heard
Touch the places I didn't know were there

Soothe my tongue with starry syrup
and stir my forever
with
yours.

Things

There are things in this life
Things that bring so much stimulation and joy
things that make my mind bigger and the edges move further out

There are things that surprise me
And make me wonder
Things that have me track my eyes back to see if I can see where it started

There are things that hook themselves into me
and I know that even if the thing itself goes away
it will never be unhooked

There are things.

Me Neither

Do you ever feel like you have no idea what you're doing?
Like, you're doing stuff you agreed to do, but are totally bullshitting your way through it?

Do you ever feel like you're an imposter and all of these people think you are some sort of expert, and really inside you wonder if they can tell that you feel ... at best, average and sometimes way less than that?

Do you ever feel like you wonder if the thing you're supposed to be doing will ever come clear? Like, crystal clear. Angel with a big sign, clear. Airplane writing in the sky clear. And then the path to that thing, whatever it is that you're supposed to be doing will open up like a moving sidewalk in the airport and you can just step on and you'll be on your way? The angels will sing and the air will turn golden because you've FINALLY gotten on the right path?

Do you ever feel that way?

No?  Oh. Uh...Me neither.

I Don't Know How it Works

I don't know how it works.

But... Sometimes I feel like there are hints, or glimpses into the space where how it works lives. I don't know if I'm right. No idea. I have a feeling that it doesn't matter, really.
Like, when it's been a long time since something. There is part of me that knows that somewhere,
somehow, it hasn't been long at all.

A blink.

A moment.

Spaceless, timeless, everything-full something.


I don't know how it works.


I really, really have no idea.  There was a time that I thought I knew. I was harmlessly taught the truth about it all.  And that was ok. Yet....  I'm pretty confident now, that there is much more to it than the story I was told.  All of us write stories to explain that which we innately experience. All of us, everywhere.


I don't know how it works.


Honestly. I don't, and I don't think anyone else does either, except for the all-knowing, something inside of each and every one of us that whispers hints to our quiet, noisy minds. It's like being given one or two pieces to an eight-million piece jigsaw puzzle.  Or...maybe four pieces.


I don't know how it works.


But sometimes.... all times.... I feel this

something.

I sort of want to call it love, and I think it is, but... I heard recently a quote that said, "The truth is the truth until you name it. Then it becomes a lie." So this something, this thing I want to call love, is ... i think... much much more than a name could ever justify.  I think. But then again....


I don't know how it works.


And still, there is this peace that resides beneath all of the questions and all of the rumors, and all of the fears and stories and threats and wonders and theories and ... all of it.  As if it is maybe the very IS that all of those things are sprouted from.  But I don't know.


I don't know how it works.


And

I'm
okay
with
that.

Turn.

I stayed still
as I woke today,
hovering in that soft, grey ether space where waking up happens.

I thought about how life can so much be like
turning one's head to look at a snapshot.

Turn,
a still.

Turn.
a moment in time.

Turn.
A smile, an expression of love, an act of anger, a parent, a friend.

and then you turn your head again
for a split second
and that picture is gone,
replaced
by a new one
a different moment
altogether.

I decided to begin looking at those photos in my mind
and I wish I could show them to you.

I want you to see them, the filtered green light of the ones from when I was a very young child.
I want you to see the one with my mother making dinner in the kitchen with orange, metallic wallpaper.
I want you to catch the one of that moment outside when my dad was talking to the neighbor and slid me his can of beer for a sip.
I want you view the moment and to know the feeling in my little mind when he left our home with an army green duffle bag, for the last time.
I want you to hover in anticipation with me as my young sister and I awaited our mom's new friend to come to the door as we played toss-a-ring-around-a-daisy in the entryway.
I want you to hurt with me when you see the shot of when I rolled my sky blue 10 speed into the house next to the yellow couch where my mother lay, dying, to show her my new birthday present.
I want your eyes with mine as we look at a picture of when I lay on the bottom bunk of my sister's trundle bed, the light in the late-night hallway mocking the time, as the sounds of quiet-voiced strangers wheeling my mother's body out of our house.

When I look back,
the photo has changed again.

Time has moved.
Particles altered
Players replaced.
Sets changed.

I see a picture, no longer edged when white, tiny black numbers narrating the date,
but one where the picture goes all the way to the edge.
The corners rounded.

Turn. A new woman in our kitchen making a salad. Light easy banter with dad, and we girls standing around.

Turn.  A surprise 40th birthday party for my dad, gag-gifts presented by his friends.

Turn. The house we moved into, big and beautiful on a sunny day. White curtains hanging in an empty room before our things made their entrance.

Turn. Yellow light on a September day, a wedding...  So many people I don't know. A happy, confusing day for me.

I wanted the photos continue.  Thy took me through the halls of my Junior High, showed me a moment when I got a locket from my 6th grade boyfriend, the day a student bounced a fish eye in science class, a fight with my 7th grade best friend when I threw her yellow jelly jacket into the hallway.

The pictures would have kept coming,
changing with the turn of my head
reminding me of my own, specific story.  But for right now, I'll stop them there. Maybe later I'll go on.

I wish I could show these pictures to you, so you could feel my life.
Feel what it is like to be me.

You have photos too. Moments that are forever filed in your mind.
Have you looked at them lately?

Isness

You are art.
Your voice is beautiful
and meaningful.

Your expression is a delight
to the canvas on which
it is
expressed.

You are something.
Even if you feel like you're trapped
inside a shell
that you can't break.
Even if you don't understand
your own
isness.

You are.

Art.

Inside of me.

There's this feeling
stirring inside of me
it's made of things and thoughts and questions and fears and wonders

There's this feeling
sitting like a rock
inside of my insides
making me sort of sad
making me wonder why it's there

There's this feeling
reaching out
from inside of me
seemingly to everyone else
or someone else.
It feels like it's telling me that it has twins
out there
in other
people.

Funny how it feels like I'm the only one who has it
or feels it
or doesn't like it
or wants it gone
or wants to know that it's in someone else too.

There's this feeling
inside of me.

I'm Loving You.

I'm loving you.

While you're making breakfast

I'm loving you.

While you're teaching kids

I'm loving you.

While you're weeding the yard

I'm loving you.

While you're paying bills

I'm loving you.

While you're changing diapers

I'm loving you.

While you're having sex

I'm loving you.

While you're not remembering me

I'm loving you.

While you're working

I'm loving you.

While you're meeting new people

I'm loving you.

While you're living your life

I'm

loving

you.