Early this morning, because she was always one of those get-up-early kind of people, my friend went to teach the angels how to dance.
I know she is laughing now, feeling like herself again for the first time in over two years, the length of time she fought against a relentless disease. Her spirit has found her mother’s spirit, and all the other souls who went before her. And because one of her favorite things to do was dance, I know she is dancing with them all now.
And those of us who remain in this realm must find a…
Much has been written about the negative impact of Covid-19 on our lives: sickness, loss, uncertainty.
I’ve decided to flip that and try to find some good.
This is difficult. I know people who’ve died from this disease, lost loved ones, suffered through its symptoms.
Finding good is hard.
But for the sake of sanity, and because I want to hold on to light, even when there appears to be only darkness, I’m taking a moment to look at the good — the things I found myself thankful for in the moment, and am thankful for still.
I remember when…
“Don’t come home pregnant.”
This is the kind of stuff she used to say to me, usually just before I went out, regardless of where I might be going. To the store. To school. To the next door neighbor’s house. On a date. The command to my ovaries was ever and always present: Thou shalt neither be fruitful nor multiply while living in this house.
It was the look that did it. Like most mothers back in the day, mine had an all-encompassing, notably compelling look that let me know she meant exactly what she’d said and she had no…
A poet lived here
alone and free
singing longings loudly
like a lonely muse
A poet walked here
bravely and alive
fearless of dark nights and smoldering hopes
soothed by cold light sparked at dawn
A poet breathed here
fired words like smolten beings
untrussed and blown from the ash
of lesser sons
A poet spoke here once
wise-like and true
like a mother to a newborn —
I will not leave you nor forsake the others
A poet danced here
bones alive and clacking
demanding the audience witness the weight
of wondrously goaded words
A poet bore revelation here
This one is mine, the first draft. The one with all the words, all the thoughts, all the ideas. All the things I want to say, whether right or not, whether true or not, or whether even good or not.
This is the place where I say what I want to say, regardless of what’s in the signed-off brief, or the client’s explicit instructions, or the company’s style guide.
Here, in this place, in this space, I will do what I want to do, in whatever style or method I so choose.
I will make your speech a poem, your…
The artist stands before the canvas. Blank eyes to blank page.
Blinking cursor blinking, daring to see
who will draw first blood.
The artist strikes the first stroke, determined to place a word just so.
Create a new world solely fueled by the power
of an endless mind.
The stroke is wrong, the artist thinks, and wipes the world away.
Cursing blinking cursor and its infinite power
to give and relentlessly take.
Stroke two and a new world appears. Braver, stronger.
The power is awesome. No one can create like this. …
Ah Valentine’s Day! A time of hearts and magic and madness, where everyone around you seems deeply in love and deeply committed to showing everyone how deeply in love they are.
And this year, thankfully, so are you!
At least on the outside.
Because the truth, the real truth that you’ve been denying to everyone, including yourself, is something different.
The truth is that your relationship is a mess.
And you’re decision to ignore the mess isn’t making it any less of a mess.
Your hope that things would somehow change between the two of you — because it’s magical…
I’m being pushed out of my home. Forced, actually, against my will.
I’ve used every tactic to stay, including hiding in this pool. But her mind is made up. She wants me out.
She’s screaming now. I’m not moving fast enough. Her patience is gone.
Others scream at me too, demanding my exit. As if my being here wasn’t her doing.
I cannot fight them all, nor remain submerged. I must breathe… now!
A gush upends me. Some kind of god swaddles me.
Then I see her for the first time.
Yes, I think. She’ll be a good mother.
A response to this challenge:
noon silent like midnight
as if they agreed to trade places
without telling me
streets shorn of cars
no honking here to break
the stillness of sun
songs discarded by birds
unwilling to spoil
my melancholy view
we are all of us here
A response to this prompt: