this is how it’s been lately, —

mostly   appropriate,
with electric  sole   shoes

may i be frank?

may i clap a  hallelujah    after
each spoonful of chicken pasta?

may i have wriggle moments
for how   cream   feels
traveling from mouth to belly?

why would i stop noticing
anything other than bliss?


for dVerse1 & 2 & Toads


welcome home,

how peculiar
and obvious
this joy
this exultant
in forgetting
my own stunning
my three letters
scratched on top
of a desk
compared to
the letters
in green hope
piped across
this buttercream
iced cake with
all the charisma
in the world
tucked into each
storied bite

i missed you


for Mackenzie


when it makes no |cheer|y sense

                         your weapons

                |red balloons|
with             laughing

                     float,        float ,      ing 
 imp |ish| ly 
               in the oncology wing

ing slower than
                  the time it took
         to fill these love|bombs|

   Hi,    iam                   here
for you


for dVerse

This is my heart then

Alone without a red balloon

Unable to lift itself
Without the help of helium

There is this fledgling bird

Or tassels on a spellbound string
I stretch across my window

A readied room


playing it again for Kerry
eternally inspired by Mac ❤🎈

After all,

fussy words are useless
to morsel-seeking mutts
of lapping tongue,
of crazy joy,
of more & more
out-of-the-oven love,-
but you,-

you already know this.


for Real Toads after Pablo Neruda’s
“Sweetness, Always” poem

It’s How We Float

outside of ourselves
leaving this heavyweight world
~~we are featherweight~~

Switchfoot’s FLOAT video

The Truth Is…Friendship Is Golden

IMG_2526We gathered ourselves together because we were falling apart–apart. I was in charge (oh why am I always the one in charge?) of making it happen last summer, so I rented a room for the four of us in a century old house (because I’m cheap vintage like that) and dubbed it the “old friends are better than gold” weekend.  I’m kitschy like that, and cling to a theme for direction. “Old school”, “old ladies”, ya, ya…we all concede nobody’s getting any younger.  I borrowed some vintage dresses/costumes from a collector and brought my camera that was able to shoot on a timer.  It was midnight when this picture (plus 58, minus 7) was taken.

I swear we had not been drinking. We didn’t need to. We were so giddy from the whole idea of gussying up for a secret photo shoot that one snicker inevitably led to another. Shhh! We don’t want to wake the bed & breakfast hostess in the back room…How did I get the camera to self-shoot yesterday?… Where are those instructions??…Pull your dress down; we’re not taking those kind of pictures!…What should we be looking at?… Should we be silly or serious?…Oh no, she’s coming!…Stop laughing!

We had been caught in the act of playing dress-up…at our age!  The house hostess shuffled in, wrapped up in her house coat. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow, stuck a fork in the pie she’d foraged out of the fridge and offered to take a few photos for us. Ralph Waldo Emerson said it well that “It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.”  Sure, it was stupid how we tried to be flapper girls at midnight, but we needed a magical flight from reality.

We purposefully reminded ourselves to “let it go” and to change the subject when conversation got too heavy, as it did when we talked of our collective losses. The truth is, we had lost fathers to cancer, mothers to Alzheimer’s, energies to the wind, and body parts to gravity. But we could still laugh.

For one summer night, we were neither wives, caretakers, nurses, chauffeurs, cooks or maids. We were teenagers who giggled and rattled the old house screen doors and mom checked up on us in our room. Our laughter filled the foyer with an aroma more intoxicating than the sweetest potpourri. We squeaked like rusty gold hinges, hanging on to a shared fanciful and fleeting moment. Last summer’s memories of my “old friends” are beautifully golden and I think the time’s ripe for another one of our gatherings.

“I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good friends.”-William Shakespeare

Weekly Writing Challenge: Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction
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