Dear Lovely Readers, This month has been madness. Not necessarily madness in a purely negative way. There’s been a load of good, too. Finally, my husband and I are 100% settled into our new apartment. I took some photos with my new camera, the Cannon T6i, and I’m loving this space. Well, as much as one can love an adorned shoe box looking out to Puget Sound. I’m still sending out queries for my book, PCSR. This is completely expected. It can take months to years before anyone turns a curious head, so I’m alright with this. As a friend […]
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Lena, You asked me how I became strong. How did we, of the same origins – of the same cloth -become so different? I recall shrugging and refusing to look at you when I said, “Some people are just born like that.” Isn’t that what I said? I might have mentioned that sometimes people are born with the skin of a dragon and titanium hearts. In hindsight, it was a terrible answer. I’m sorry my words failed you. I’m sorry I couldn’t answer your true question: If I am strong, does that make you weak? I see now that you […]
We feel like strangers, Roaming in the night, Landing kisses on the wall, Narrowly missing each other Like we’re playing Pin The Tail On The Donkey. We have terrible aim. We stage a game of telephone, Twirling the bright red Pretend cord around our fingers, Cutting circulation, Filling in all the words Lost along the way. We easily find a disconnection. We’re terrible at this game. Ad lib romance of insecurities, You to me, Me to you, Lost in the translations Of absent-minded doodles Spread across the pages of an old Phonebook. Was this where […]
Frühling des Bedauerns Come back to me, I Simply couldn’t see, blind The arrant symmetry, You Were my everything. You opened me, sigh To the endless sea, I Simply couldn’t breathe, When you looked at me. We broke apart, You And your paper heart, grew Like frosted grass, Love I ruined you.
She’s sure he didn’t mean to call her boring He was probably joking, even. Yet, as he turned away from her And announced it Loudly to the small audience of their friends, She felt a little piece of herself chip, A small sensation she has come to recognize As her feelings being hurt. She sat there, hands clasped in her lap, And waiting. And waiting. She hopes he will say something to her Take notice, care. Yet, all she want is to leave; she wants to cry. She wants to cry.
I don’t know why I remember the smell of gasoline. Sitting on the garage floor in nothing but my short corduroys, grease smeared on my knees, I watch Papa curse over the truck engine. Gasoline, sawdust, and grease was all over the garage, painting it with the leftovers of hard work and, often, failed attempts. Carved wooden projects were stacked against the shells of cars, which were bursting with old, odd bits from the house. Shelves in the corner held an assortment of paint and were lined with Folgers Coffee cans overflowing with nuts, bolts, and nails. I sat, leaning […]