managing mess

Much of my writing is melancholic. I know this. The beauty can seem muted by the process. But, I don’t know how else to write, as writing is my processing. My brain spread out like a garment on my ironing board, then the searing truth applied. Ironing out your life is humble, honest work. I … Continue reading managing mess

grow slow

There’s a slowing that comes when you’ve reached the end of yourself. Like the last bit of honey, sluggishly seeping down the jar to a reluctant, pooled drip, then a finely webbed drizzle. It’s exaggeratedly pokey, with no way to rush. Not that anyone would want to hurry up the process of running out, but … Continue reading grow slow


The birds are playful in the early mornings of spring. I watch them engage each other in tag, diving and leaping. Their chirps are careless joy. They move the morning’s melody, their wings turning the sheet music, but they know it by heart. I want to be a bird.  I think I can hear the … Continue reading spring


I woke up at 3am with these words:  “And life fell away, like the left side of my face, when I was five years old.”  It was Bell’s palsy, and the discovery of not being able to hold air in my cheeks as a Sesame Street character on grandma’s TV had instructed me to. It … Continue reading five