What can YOU say in six sentences?
Why I woke this day and remembered her, unlike all the other days is perhaps not strange, but it set the tone for the next hundred years. Not everything that comes from the ground knows itself, understands or cares or loves, or is willing to do so. Most of us begin with the great bellows of our breathing. Jeweled eyes, hard garnets open in the dark. We begin and do not know our purpose until we find that One. We find that One and know what our beginning means, and from that day on our…Continue
she wanted to know what kinds of men i go for, and these days i only go for one which i say comfortably and willingly as my body loves his holey t-shirts.
i used to go for guys with tight jeans and rock-hard asses that sauntered and scuffed down the science-wing hallway: one with tousled ginger hair, one with spikey mullet hair, and they always had to have a truck and know where to go with it. i used to go for guys like julia's guy--an anchor, a bloke, somebody who could…Continue
He shut off the water hushing from the kitchen sink, turned her around gently and pressed her back into the counter.
Wet hands felt for his belt loops and drew him in.
She looked up into his eyes, blue like his favorite faded gray t-shirt.
Standing, two, watching, waiting, content to breathe together for a while.
He pressed his chin into hers and she loved the grit of his skin like diamond dust.
The kiss was eventual, maybe, if he could stop smiling long…Continue
bat on a limb, sly listening in
or withered leaf with nothing to lose?
it wasn’t what we thought it was
we aren’t who we thought we were
and that’s all right,
that’s all right
soul is a tangible little thing about the size of a box that a locket comes in, taken from hands that love you, and you keep that locket (with the box and cotton it came in) forever and treasure it.
my white cottony soul nestled inside that white, wrinkled little box tucked in the armoire gets singed and dies a little when:
i hear of the abuse, torture, and death of a child-- my soul does not recover from this
i hear of a family, or a person,…Continue
i called my therapist every night for a week after HoW, but she said i had to wait for our usual appointment, that there wasn't anything that couldn't wait until then... yah, right.
she said i'm not happy unless i'm stressing about something, so i gave myself plenty of reasons to feel stressed, under duress and out of control, but was it really my fault i overslept, missed my flight, had to drive the 35 gallons-per-mile yukon to blowing rock--WITHOUT the aid of a navigator…Continue
Trevor and Tammy celebrated their first year together by taking a cruise to enjoy white beaches and turquoise seas... or maybe just to be alone, far and alone, as they dreamed for so long.
Trevor and Tammy gained smiles by everyone from the travel agent to the cruise director to the concierge because all everyone could see was a senior couple's escapade, like a greyhound chasing a robot rabbit.
Trevor and Tammy smiled and walked hand in hand, ate and shared…Continue
Mom used to call me Brenda when my behavior resembled her wild child niece's. No insult, as far as I was concerned--who wouldn't want to be all leg and skinny with waterfalls of red-brown hair, 10 years older than me and living the vida loca?
My best memories of Brenda: she loved horses and worked in whatever job she could find to be around the gorgeous creatures. I'll never forget the night I was sleeping in the upstairs bedroom of Forbsie's house and she creaked up the…Continue
Stuart and Elizabetta leaned on the mahogany bar, navel to navel, waiting for the decibels to go down to continue their conversation. They gazed at each other over half-finished glasses of Stella (which raised not a few brows, this being an Irish pub and whatever are they drinkin' that for?), smiled perfect pearls, flirting gently between bars of "let's see who can outsmart whom".
"Back to it then, Elizabetta. You've not fully convinced me that you believe in the tyranny of…Continue
No Faulty Wiring Here, Boys And Girls
I really want to tell you that I cannot throw a frisbee to save my life, but in all other ways I am perfect and you need to emulate me. I don't really want to tell you about the boxes of writing and photos and other things begun but lie unfinished under an avalanche of clean clothes and unworn shoes in the hall closet next to the wine bottles. Who wants to admit their foibles and frailties to their writing friends, after all? Instead, I will tell…Continue