Boy, funny how small you looked on the doctor’s floor sleeping still for good. Boy, both ears folded against your big, black Pit face tuned us out for good. Boy, your huge, leathered paws don’t fill easy now they’ve stopped walking for good.
Muscle Memory
Stories are seeping out of the soft skin stacked over secrets sewn into my sore muscles like bruises painted over with a peach-colored hue called pretend-smile finally purpling. Time is no healer.
Stomach Ache
My body is no temple. It’s not lined with pews for resting in prayer or fueled by quiet morning meditation. It’s simply overfilled with the kind of gluttony that set Jesus into a rage at the sight of His Father’s house misused for the desires of this life. I first knew my overweight body was…
Sit. Stay. Heal.
Tiny puppy whimpers remind every piece of my body how much I am not a mother. Nothing wrenches in my gut at the sound. Nothing spills out of my chest to nourish a physical hunger. Nothing about the thin sounds of a four-pawed little one learning to say her piece with the rising sun makes…
Snoozed, Rushed Morning Pages
Blue-gray morning cold painted across my backyard canvas far too soon. Sunrise hid behind thinning clouds and hurried time, and today began with a rush of broken peace, a flurry of stress released onto a blank page.
Step Lightly
Words type-written onto strings of cream white ribbon float through the dance studio of my mind, where the walls are lined with mirrors, and the floors are a light-brown faded wood stain, and the window high up on the ceiling breathes in the outside light, like sunshine through a cloud. But I am no dancer…
Almost a decade ago
Oh, I remember sending you home like package returned to sender, sent back like a gift unopened, still wrapped, unheld. How could I have known? You would’ve been nine, And you would’ve been mine, and We would’ve been fine.
Petaling Forward
Standing tall against the summer storm like I was already a full-grown sunflower, I felt the weight of the heavens fall against my unopened petals and beat down upon my closed up bouquet. And I understood that I deserved every minute of that downpour. That rain is why those petals never opened, why that me never bloomed, why…
Dog-on Joy
Life is bittersweet. Life is cute, if incomplete. Life with dogs? A treat.
Garden bed dreams
Mine has long been empty, and yet I find my way back time and time again. Sometimes, I’ll make the effort to dig deep enough to pull a weed out by its roots, just like dad taught me to on those hot summer Mondays perfect for swimming and playing pretend, but not until the chores…
Moth-Eaten Sweater 