They are his word, that gentle force that moves over and into my darkness to whisper let there be light. And my dad is God made flesh. He who stands before me to do the work of living, to do the work of breaking, to do the work of rebuilding with the pieces left over. …
Tag: God
Closed Curtains
Winter drops the late afternoon sun into my bedroom window just after three o’clock. He hovers there— burning the edges of my closed curtains like an eclipse I can touch. He says, you have to invite me in, which I find charming. My palms hover over the fabric, pin-holed from cats, reminding me of that…
Change is overrated
If there’s one thing that recovering alcoholics excel at it’s self-flagellation. Maybe it’s not just recovering alcoholics, but any one of us mid-way through life’s journey lost in a dark wood. It seems the first thing we ask is what can I change? Should I lose weight. Read more. Travel. Fix up the house. Find…
Day 60 and a Very Happy Mother’s Day!
Milestone day has arrived, though it comes with a lingering, whopper of a cold and a broken coffee maker. O, the humanity! But more than 60 days ago, I wouldn’t even have cared about having coffee and I would already be sick. So, dang it, I am thrilled to make this report today! I almost…
Nepeta Cataria
If I accomplished nothing else today, I planted Nepeta cataria inside the broad mouth of a flowerpot leftover from my grandfather’s passing. I held a ponytail of her sticky locks and considered long the origin of her species, the ancient quality of dirt unearthed with five extra heaves of the shovel, and of Annie Dillard…
Sobriety Poet 