I work next to a lake,
which spreads out from the base
of a mountain.
Everyday the stony guards
reflect off it's surface,
the trees motionless in the breezeless
landscape.
I never hear the birds,
nor the occasional fish splash,
too occupied by my dash,
the clicks, keyboards, spread sheets,
plugging away at the base of a mountain,
filling the frame
above my desk

It's days like these that I feel haunted.
A strange urge that I fed,
led me to set up a desk outside,
to provide a peaceful place
to read.
But a slight breeze
pulled ominously through the corridor,
a plane groaned endlessly,
a mournful moan.
Even though the sun was shining
I felt it in my bones,

hollow

A fall from the sky,
better than any angel,
and no need for wings,
to arrive in my waiting arms
filled with adrenaline love.
A gift to my eyes,
like rain pouring over
a dry savanna,
pooling into watering holes
for my parched soul.

Falling used to mean
plummeting, parachuteless,
toward an abrupt end.
Now it's more like floating,
knowing the return to Earth
will hold more,
that we will arrive safely,
gracefully,
and keep on lovin'.

when i think of holiness, i imagine
my mother layin in bed at night
sayin a prayer like,
"jesus, why did this happen to me"
a prayer like,
"jesus, i know i wasn't a perfect mom but at least i was off the liquor"
a prayer like,
"jesus, if i love my daughters unconditionally, will you make this all go away?"

i've got a face a mother could only love
if that's what she thinks god wants her to do

i made you
turn the doorknob for me
me
me with hands full of squishy pumpkin guts
wash them clean to get them messy
again
sculpting a friendship out of a fractured romance
you, with your broken shovel still planted in my backyard
sliding your hands over me, no friction
like a pool stick in between our chalky fingers
the thunder of knocking down bowling pins
sounds like atom bombs in an empty arcade room

how dare you

Skinny dipping until 1am,
Welcoming fall with one of the clearest night skies I've laid eyes on.
I said, I hope you didn't catch my cold
You said you didn't care if you did.
I said, thanks for being the type of person who makes me feel like I can take up space
You said you like the amount of room I take, mentally and physically
I said, (I want to see you again) with a sigh
You said, when will you be home next?

I don't know

“i was born to make biscuits”
and so we let him.
flour, butter, one egg, messiest
table in the hole entire county.
mom watches bug and the boys
roll in the leaves outside, and
greg and i drink coffee by the fire
in thick socks and knitted throws.
a burst of the season arrives with
each sibling but we smile anyway,
kisses and cold hands pressed on
our warm cheeks until we're all
the same temperature. pop's biscuits
are done, so we sit and don't say
grace- just thank each other for
the things we have which no one
else could have given us. mom's
already missing the birds, and
wendy says she thinks she found
one of katy's old hats in the back
of her garage last month and she
even brought it with her this time.
we talk and we laugh and the little
boys nap and we just are.
we just are.

I have reduced my life
to voices and pictures

hard to see what
comes next