I spent three hours here, yesterday. On this stoop and on this porch. I humped up and wouldn’t budge when everyone else went to feed the donkey. Even though they knew good and well they weren’t supposed to feed that donkey. And I thought about my great-aunt Georgie, and Pa and Ma. And how they
I started cussing when Ma died. Hard core mouthfuls. Obscenities I never knew I knew. It was the only thing that made me feel better. It was the only thing that made me feel good. And I liked it. That’d be hard for Ma to handle, if she knew. I don’t have to imagine what
I wasn’t prepared for the last week or so. When I’m not prepared for things, I get anxious. When I get anxious, I get scared. But I’m a work in progress, just like everyone else. I battle my own fears and anxieties in my own way. This week, I battled them with The Piano Guys.
You close your eyes and all the world goes dead. You think you made it up inside your head. — Now and then you see people for the first time. For the first time in a hundred times. In a hundred, hundred, times. And you can’t help but stare. They’re like Pollock-style paint drops. Only
She loved to dance, my Ma. But she’d only do it for her girls. Behind closed doors where she could twist and turn and laugh. When she first lost herself, first forgot everything and everyone but her Dear Bill, all her inhibitions seemed to fall away, and she’d dance just about anywhere. Give her half
I have a bracelet that says “Breathe”. Just “Breathe”. I wear it a lot. Because sometimes I forget to do that. To breathe. In my kitchen there’s a plaque made of distressed 2x4s, cut to pieces. The words “be still” are written across it. Be still…and know. This little thing, it’s hard for me. And
Everything I’ve ever let go of in life, had claw marks on it. I even hold on to my breath longer than I should. It leaves me in ragged little strips. Shredded up by my insides and the knowledge that once it’s gone, I’ll never get it back. That scares me. And that, right there,