I stand

In the burgeoning darkness of my sister’s yard; with

The phone pressed tight against my ear

My body coiled as I listen intently to the voice on the other end


They stand

               huddled around me

The glow of the phone illuminates my face

Daughter, sister, niece waiting anxiously

For the call to end


I reach

               behind me, seeking

With my free hand

Frantically seeking his solidity

To prop me up


I pause

               Gathering my courage close

I let them enjoy the final moment of living

In a world mom still inhabits


I choke

               On the words, slipping

From my mouth

As I shatter their world with my grief


Droopy and weary I am evicted from my nest
warm and feathery, soft

I sigh, goodbye
​as it resumes it’s slumbering solitude

I leave with animosity
​Begrudging every moment we are forced to be apart

That I’m forced to don my mask of humanity
​and slip unnoticed through the crowd

Darting and weaving I navigate the swarm of conformity

I am them
They are me

Thinking, therefore being
​I live an internal existence at odds with my outward demeanor

Living proof that you should never judge a book by its cover

I shudder at the crush of souls
​the human cacophony overwhelms my sanity

Tethered lightly by a frayed string
​the knot slips perilously

Straining against the onslaught of my demons

Longing for my feathered nest
​uncoupled from the world, I rest

State of grace

We gathered beneath the bridge created by the wide granite stairs

To plan our lazy summer nights as we sat on milk crates pilfered from stores long since shuttered and drinking discount wine from takeaway cups

A nod, a glance, a budding romance

We fell in and out of love to the sounds of Friday night basketball games and foreigner blaring from tinny car radios

A breath hitched high in your chest, as the flush of desire beat relentlessly in your breast, loosening your gait, your hair tossed carelessly, calculated to enchant as hips swung in a choreographed dance that we couldn’t possibly understand but nevertheless knew the first rudimentary steps

We lived then in a state of grace strengthened by the carelessness of our youth

We worried about dances and drinking and being caught in our attempts to run free and the punishment that would be imposed as we sought to be unique and somehow the same

The terrifying moment when his hand slips beneath your shirt to caress the small of your back as you simultaneously lean in and back away seeking the courage to say no, or yes

Never really understanding the ramifications of the question left unasked just seeking and grasping and trying to be heard even if only for that moment where you are poised between the innocence of youth and a woman’s desire

The act of being was our poetry even as we didn’t understand the importance of our futures, didn’t know we could question the world

And sometimes we settled for the only answer we could understand, a kiss to quell the loneliness that invaded your soul which was so very afraid to live life alone.

Of dirt and other things

The smell of dirt reminds me of thunderstorms and summer rain, of mud pies and peals of laughter, of matchbox cars and games of jacks, of time spent under the canopy of trees near Newfound Lake, sharp and pungent and filled with moss and decaying leaves, of clear well water and sap-encrusted pine trees

Cool breezes and marshmallow roasts, of faces warmed by open fires and sparklers dancing in the warm night air, of sitting at the picnic table making perfume and laughing as only young girls can, of rolling down the hills at the sugar bowl, leaves entwined in long blond hair, of whiskey and sloe gin and boys that taught us how to kiss, of missing those who have gone away

The bandstand at the pond, of names carved into wooden seats connected by rough formed hearts, and the earnest promises to never part, of all the friends I have known, and all the boys I kissed

The smell of dirt reminds me of home

Winter wonderland

Winter’s icy touch sends shivers down my spine. I stiffen as it infiltrates my barriers and lodges in the areas I didn’t sufficiently protect.

The blue sky stands in stark relief to the fraying blanket of glistening snow as it covers the debris associated with urban living

Shapes lurk beneath the mounds transforming the mundane into a wintery landscape bedecked in a thousand shades of grime

Sounds both simultaneously muffled and harsh become the peculiar language that results when hard and soft converge and form our winter wonderland

Sun glances off stalactites made of ice as they balance precariously from rooftops and fire escapes

We dodge beneath them in a game of Russian roulette reciting a quick prayer to the gods of winter that we be spared such an inglorious insult to our health and egos as to be the one felled by an errant piece of ice

Muttering to ourselves about hellfire not being made of snow and dreaming of sand castles crushed beneath bare toes

Summer beckons

Dream on

So I guess spirit or my subconscious is trying to get a message to my slow-witted self. The other night I had a dream so filled with symbolism and messages that I straight up asked, in my dream, for them to cease with the cryptic and just blurt it out.

They refused because of course they did.

The next night I had a dreamless night which is very odd for me. Honestly, I felt a bit cheated. Stupid subconscious.

Monday night the dreams returned. Actually a dream returned. Me, sitting in a car stuck in traffic. Which actually ended up happening in real life but that’s not all that happened. The car I was in didn’t move more than a block during the course of the long dream. I did. I got out and wandered off but always returned to the car.

The traffic was in a seaport town that bore a striking resemblance to Kennebunkport Maine but wasn’t.

Didn’t take a weatherman to see which way that wind was blowing. But off to the dream dictionary, and by dream dictionary I mean the internet.

From To be waiting in traffic jam in a dream indicates that you may currently be unable to move forward in your life (in a given situation) in a consistent, meaningful way.

Shockingly obvious even to me. Really spirit, that’s it?

Last night I had another dream with one theme. Broken household appliances — washers and dryers, specifically. They were cluttering up the kitchen of my childhood home.

Paging Dr. Freud. Table for unresolved childhood issues.

Back to the internet where I found the following on

To see a kitchen in your dream signifies your need for warmth, spiritual nourishment and healing. It may also be symbolic of the nurturing mother or the way that you are for your loved ones. Alternatively the kitchen represents a transformation. Something new or life altering is about to occur. The dream could also be telling you that if “you can’t stand the heat, then you need to get out of the kitchen”. You need to abort your plans.

Well that wasn’t all that helpful now was it. Back to the internet and Auntyflow who tells me:

If the washing machine in your dreams is old or in need of repair then this may reflect that you are in a rut in the way that you interact with others, and you have entrenched habits which need to change. tells me that dryers mean:

Dreaming of dryer may represent a stage of completion in your life. It suggests the ending of one phase and the beginning of a new one. Further, it can represent a transformation – turning something that was impure or complicated into something unblemished and orderly.

So there we have it boys and girls spirit clawed it’s way into my brain for three nights to basically tell me my life sucks but maybe not.

I feel better already!