Tag Archives: poem
When I turned 12, I took a certification class with the Red Cross, and started babysitting. All the money went into my college fund, but eventually I used it to buy one terrible car in high school, and then one miraculous one that I’d drive … Read more
I thought girls actually used pencils to darken lines beneath their eyes. The same pencils we used to take bubble tests. That seemed so brave to me. Like something a pirate would do. Lined up in the hallway, waiting to march out to the playground, … Read more
A friend of mine, who makes gorgeous jewelry, and has spent her career researching symbolism and spirituality, asked me recently if it was enough to make beautiful art. Is beauty without meaning enough?
In December of this year, I’ll have spent half of my … Read more
I fell asleep, despite the dog howling in the neighbor’s yard, and dreamed of ramshackle farms – muck, emaciated chickens.
This illness brings clarity.
Outdoors now, as the dogs race up and back. I keep thinking of what Beyonce said about lemonade
All … Read more
For the first time since we moved into our fixer upper, I don’t have a house project. This spring, all I have to think about is the garden. What would I like to plant? Where do we need trees? If we had chickens, could I … Read more
I’m reading Cheryl Strayed’s Wild, and I’m struck by the way she is brave, defiant, vulnerable, and often embarrassing. It takes courage to write about how we’re ridiculous. Human. I was younger than she was when I set off for Europe by myself. Determined to … Read more
“We spent the morning,” Mary says, “trying to decide if telling your counselor you hope she falls down a flight of stairs is, in fact, a threat of violence.”
“What did you decide? I’d say it isn’t.”
“We said ‘no’ as well, but it’s still … Read more
“I feel like I’m drowning,” she says. “These metaphors aren’t metaphors at all. A mariner series is just so on the nose.”
She doesn’t say naked, but that’s what she means. Art isn’t supposed to be our heart torn from our chest with one final … Read more
On car trips when I was a child, we listened to Roger Whittaker. Hours and hours of Roger Whittaker. Lionel Jeffries reading Winnie the Pooh, Sesame Street sing alongs, and Roger Whittaker. Otherwise, we heard music in church on Sunday. White people hymns: the burden … Read more