This the Earth Will Swallow Too

This, 

the earth will swallow,

too.

All

out tiny tears

and sorrows.

All

laughter borne away

on rising currents

of air.

Hold my hand, 

while you can.

Kiss my lips

while you may.

Tomorrow's an unknown:

one more

unknowable night, 

one more 

unknowable day.

Fingers Crossed....

"In the latest letter I received from Maria, she wrote only one sentence:

It is never enough to accept things as they are, you gotta aim for things the way you dream them."

I got an email from a publisher who wants to read my entire manuscript based on a sample. Could this be what I've been waiting for? What my story has been waiting for? What Maria and the world have been waiting for?

Stay tuned.....

Submit, Submit, Submit again....

Always dreaming of the day when I'm a read writer....

"Sometimes, I don't write because I fear what I will say; sometimes I write because I fear what I will not say."  One Night in Anywhere

ekphrastic poem:  after Young Woman at a Window – Salvador Dali

through the window, and across the bay:
a sailboat, and a tree-lined shore.
the sky is flat and gray, yet luminous,
what’s more: the breeze that touches water
goes its way, lifting curtains, curls, and sails
like this, like this, like this.
the waves on the surface; the folds in her dress.
the eyes that take in without focus
and forget the wall and window sill
to hold and remember and feel

Have You ZINE Her? One Drawing Away

...and a photocopier...this was on my list of goals for 2020! Incredible levels of stoked to announce that Have You ZINE Her #1 is about done. Now to distribute!

Have You Zine Her?

Calling all my crafty, wordy, creative friends, family, and framily!

Back in the days when my parents had a photocopier and I liked to make collage art with it...I didn't know that I could turn that obsession into a thing.

But now I know. Ok, I actually have known about zines for a while, but in my continuing quest (renewed New Year's resolution-style) to be more awesome, I think I'm going to make one.

I was kicking around some fun titles, but the one I have stuck with (and also, the one which did not bring up someone else's cleverly named zine in an internet search) is:

Have You ZINE Her?

...cue the Chi-Lites song that I am too young to know, and to old to care that I'm too young to know. (If you don't know it, look it up. So very worth it.)

I want to focus on pieces by women, but I can make exceptions, y'all.

Anyone want to play? I'll be posting on my social medias about this too...

How to Take a Monstera Cutting Without Being Noticed

My daughter was laying back in the dentist's chair under the bright lights. Looking super chic in those wrap-around dark plastic shades. 

I was finishing my ballot - thank my lucky stars and stripes I can drop this off anytime up til 7 p.m.

Next to me, the baby snored softly and suckled her pacifier. Next to her, and leaning over us both as though to cast shade under the fluorescent lights, was a big, gangly Monstera. And I wanted to take some home. So much. 

I was considering asking the receptionist if I could take a cutting. Would she laugh? Would she reveal me as an entitled white lady? Why don't I just buy a Monstera?! Like I really need another plant. Am I only interested if I can get it for free? 

The baby sighs, and I feel that. 

I know that later I will lie awake in bed, playing and replaying the scene: myself flanked by children, gazing with longing at the broad, lace-edged leaves. Reaching out, even, to touch the satin leaves and stem. They are the deep, secretive green of the jungle. I could have stared for hours, but I had mere minutes. I touched the nodes from which I could so easily coax roots forth. 

As we got ready to go, I walked slowly past the receptionist, feeling judged already, knowing I wouldn't ask. After all what if everyone did? 

One last, wild thought occurred to me, and I moved toward the Monstera. I was thinking that it is silly to waste so much worry on this damn plant. But also, as my hand reached out again, I was thinking that I could quickly snap a leaf off at the node. Tuck it into my purse. Who would stop me - a mom with a numb-faced daughter and a baby-in-carseat at her hip? Anyway, there was no one in the waiting room to witness me doing it.

No one but my daughter. The baby was asleep, but her older sister - a sharp-eyed nine-year-old was already looking at me to see what I would do. 

So instead, I said, "Such a pretty plant. It's called a Monstera." And we left the dentist's office. 

The baby has fallen asleep, as though this whole thing mattered as much or as little as whatever babies may dream. Her little features worked through a smile, to a bubbling pout, and back to calm repose. 

And I felt that.