I text my daughter,
I live you
quickly correct:
*love
I love you!
think: but the original is true, too
I live you
quickly correct:
*love
I love you!
think: but the original is true, too
Shave off a slice of the gummy bear.
Don’t eat the whole thing.
It’s too strong. Makes me paranoid.
I know. Because you used all of it.
A simple shaving dissolved in sleepy time tea
is all you need.
I’m dying, Douglas.
I think I need a little more than that.
I know, Mom.
**Hera Rising is the project name given to the next planned stratospheric skydive. Along with trying to break several existing skydiving records, it will also be the first time such a feat has been attempted by a woman. They hope to launch this mission by the end of 2026.**
When you really stop to think about it,
even the greatest plot twists
only have the one chance to get you.
But for the twist to work, it also needs
you to be in a place
to see its inevitability.
How often do you ask yourself
if you would be ready
for an impossible opportunity
to suddenly become real?
In time’s forever march forward
it will soon be your turn
to behold the curvature of the earth.
Will you be able to hold your eyes open
and keep your wits about you?
I can say
way up above the clouds,
a higher form of thrill
is waiting for your courage
and faith
but be warned
because sometimes
you only get the one chance.
Please,
allow me to be
the first to say
when that day comes
I hope you come back alive.
I pray
when the air becomes too thin
that you’ll still draw breath into your lungs,
that when you’re faced with a marathon of falling
you won’t be overcome by fear,
that when the anxiety sends you into a fatal spin
you’ll find a way to stabilize yourself,
that when it feels like all eyes are on you
as you are about to crash into the earth
you’ll discover within yourself
a fortitude you may not know you have–
the ability, a willingness
to live the same life
as all the rest of the world.
I pray
that when the odds seem insurmountable
you’ll recognize in your own heart this belief:
your capacity to love and,
more importantly,
to be loved
for everything you are.
You have the power to make it back home.
Just remember
it’s an opportunity
that doesn’t come often.
You may only have the one chance
to claim all this future as your own.
So ask yourself,
when your moment inevitably comes
will you have the courage
and faith
to take the plunge?
knowing he’d kill something
for sport, pick up ticks
and poison ivy oils to bring
back in the house because
I know what it is to be trapped
and yowling out the window screen
and all of April flitting
past you on its way to bloom.
Enter the underground
temple through a courtyard
lit by a single square
opening in the ceiling.
The paving stones are worn,
but not smooth. The air smells
like earth and is just damp
enough to feel cool. There is no
altar, no oracle, only
the faint sound of dripping
water to guide you
to what may be found.
I haven’t been drunk in four years
I wheeled a resident to the hallway window.
It was during COVID.
Their daughter stood in the dead flowerbed
because there was nowhere else to stand.
It was winter.
The flowers had long ago collapsed
over the dark, hard earth.
My resident sat bundled up,
cocooned in a white hospital blanket,
shaking from age, or fear,
or simply to stay warm.
I use my own phone.
One spoke into the receiver.
The other listened through the glass.
Words crossed the speaker,
the window kept them apart.
How are you? I’m okay.
What’s new? Nothing much.
The same answer,
week after week.
Their daughter talked about grandchildren,
weather, cost of groceries, life beyond
those closed doors…in this case, a window.
My resident, who had very little to report.
I stood beside them, holding my phone
mending their bridge.
When the calls end, we watch them
walk back to their car. Then drive away.
I push the wheelchair down the hall
thinking about the wrong side of the glass.
To one day
I may be on the inside, trapped
searching for something new to say.
And someone else, much younger than me
will hold a phone between us
While my grown child stands
where the flowers used to grow.
little sprite, maybe 4
waiting to board a big, white airplane
she’s the perfection of tiny moments
nut-rounded forehead
polka dot pants
messy dark curls in a lopsided bun
ma-ma
ma-ma
ma-ma!
a snack bag is offered
little one giggles
offfers a chip to big brother
ma-ma
ma-ma
ma-ma!
a drink is proffered
mother holds bright orange soda
little one sips
burps
sips
smiles
ma-ma
ma-ma
ma-ma!
tank you
