grief

Stone by Stone

Stone by stone,we drag and stack,the fallen limbs of yesterdaysnap against restless winds of today. Sturdy knees bend,shadows sway deep blue —our bearbag hangs, makinga moon of its own. Stone by stone,we sit, heavy-hipped,hair pulled awayfrom the damp of our necks. On a Narniac throne of sheetrock,we watch the sun foldbehind the Allegheny River —whereContinue reading “Stone by Stone”

There Will Be Blood

Mid-week while meeting with my last client for the evening, I found myself repeating the same sentiment I had shared with two different clients earlier that day; a comment meant to help normalize the inevitable hurt that comes with intimate relationships. I tell them that all couples experience moments of feeling wounded and hurt, evenContinue reading “There Will Be Blood”

White Noise

The quieter I try,The louder sound I make White lace pressed dimplesCreak of old-fashioned lightLike a piano string dragged between fingersCarpeted navy blue brineHe stumbles Through absence of wife and sunlight

Maternal in Spring

I miss bathing suit shopping in spring Watching you run toward the car at the pickup line, as though you would combust had you stayed at school another second, your bag flung over an arm while bouncing off your backI miss listening to your chatter, venting the day’s frustrationsI miss watching, after you fell, how youContinue reading “Maternal in Spring”

Scattered

Unzip the lock. A few pounds worth of flour-like grey weighing down my left palm while digging in with a plastic hummus container. This morning is magic. Dampened stonewalls and trees dressed by a perfect love affair between algae and fungus. Engorged moss like a breastfeeding mother away from her infant too long. Fern bedsContinue reading “Scattered”

b•i•c•y•c•l•e

“[The bicycle] has done more to emancipate women than any one thing in the world. … It gives her a feeling of self-reliance and independence the moment she takes her seat; and away she goes, the picture of untrammelled womanhood.” Susan B. Anthony Nothing taps into my sense of freedom like book-ending a day onContinue reading “b•i•c•y•c•l•e”

A Really Hard Thing From the base of that mountain I called to you. Questions fade as words dissolve into a fog of dried lavender sky. I have two pearl earrings tucked delicately in a flowering leather coin pouch, like the one your grandfather carried. His voice still distinctly held close to memory. I can’tContinue reading “Grief”