Posts for June 12, 2026 (page 2)

Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?

We finish with the divine
And then we choose to dine
At that same old spot on the hill

Singing songs, rejoicing in praise
Pouring syrup on pancakes 
Scraping plates empty of God has made

My shoulders slip out of this dress like a stillbirth.
Blades of bone suggest wing, angel statue, pre-death.
When I breathe you know I am not there, replaced
by a brutal emptiness. My verse rattles only hollow notes
into this humid dusk. You are impressed by my soullessness. 
I let a cuckoo into my heart, she slaughtered the child I was,
and now she is all I am. I cannot pretend to sing, high, sweet, 
warble how you thought I should. Left here to leech your care,
I’m only misery’s baby, a prodigy daughter, I’ll push any soft
embryonic shred of life that emerges in the nest of my ribs
to the hostility of dirt, to be desiccated by sun, food for worms.

long lines of people

angel, if such time comes as you need to explain
the narrow scarlet oak tall at the fencline,
unscreened windows lowered by smoke,
batteries taken from the radio,
sand on the floor,

imagine two thunderstorms colliding,
the lulling hum of spinning dials
faster, further destinations,
money saved, unspent on protein bars
and gasoline.

Born eleventh, the month
everything tried to fall down the stairs—
crunch, the plaster has a hole, and I
know I’d rather spackle than
eat jello off a hospital tray.
Thanks for staying, and
thanks for saying you’d have swung back.

A singular
burning-out 
lightbulb
manages to find 
it’s way
through the dark. 

I grasp towards it
the dirt
brushing off
my heels
falling away
from my arches
sinking
 between my toes
as I stand
desperate 
for a lift off. 

If I can hold 
my hand to
the sputtering candle
of a bulb,
maybe I can 
wash the battery
acid off.
Maybe
I can forget
the feeling of acid
was ever there.

We become most what we most give our attention

Read Blue Like Jazz

Beef and broccoli with a side of white rice
Crab rangoons
Steamed dumplings

Monet train station painting – warm yellows, cool blues

Heather – tennis elbow
Stacie sister – Andrea, chest pains, fainted.
Cardiologist apt end of month

Harp, harpoon, harp on

the way the word filament looks exactly how it sounds

Buy organic tampons ?

I’m crying over a woman
whose mother put on a roast one morning
and passed away that afternoon.
The family gathered around the table that evening
and ate one last meal
their mother made them

I’m falling in love with the granularity of strangers

New Note: DON’T FORGET!!!           no additional text

I have almost nothing in common with my
six-years-ago self, except that she wrote
We all have grief on our resume
and if I can’t remember the dream
I wanted to tell Sarah,
or even which Sarah I meant,
how can I be
the same person?

Show me how to piece myself together.
Show me how these fragments
make up a stranger.

Getting lost on long walks.
Hiking off path. 
Catching lightning bugs in a mason jar.
Sunbathing in the backyard, slathered in oil.
Lying on wet grass, stargazing.
Staying still long enough to see the clouds move. 
Flipping rocks over to dig worms.
Catching crawdads as we’re ankle deep in the creek.
Laughing until our bellies hurt 
Anything made with love. 
Dancing.
Singing with our friends in the late evening.
Making a wildflower bouquet.
Checking out books at the library.
Rollie pollies.
Passing notes to our friends.
Holding hands.
Walking arm in arm.
Talking to someone while they cook. 
Doing the dishes together.
Bubble baths.
Splashing one another with water. 
Jumping in mud puddles.
Catching frogs. 
Asking for family recipes. 
Riding bikes.
Racing to the car, the store, home. 
Playing tag. 
Watching the things we love with our own eyes.
Putting down our phones.

The earth itself is a plinth for her greatness