It started with a fly.

Fat, slow-moving,

buzzing just above the sofa cushion,

near the comfort-worn blankets

that shelter boys during long Minecraft afternoons.

It wasn’t meanness.

Jamie, ten,

sandal raised like a flag of justice,

swung hard

and cracked the world a little.

The living room window—

gone.

Glass spilled like rain

across the couch,

into corners,

and scattered across the cement driveway

like the sky had shattered

and tried to keep it quiet.

Connor, twelve,

stood beside him,

squinting at the damage.

“It’s hardly noticeable,” he said.

A pause.

“I think.”

They waited in the silence,

barefoot in the wreckage,

the house holding its breath

along with them.

Then—

the low sound of tires

on the driveway.

Their mother pulling in,

her hand still on the gear shift

when she saw it:

the bright, broken wound

in her home.

And Jamie let out a cry

from the center of his chest—

a sound that children make

only when they believe

they’ve let love down.

Later,

their father came home,

his shirt damp with the day,

his patience low and rattling.

He stood at the edge of it all—

the break,

the boys,

the unspoken weight—

and said nothing.

Because sometimes

a man’s quiet

carries more than any scolding.

That evening,

he pulled out the blue painter’s tape.

Crisscrossed it,

careful and taut,

until the jagged edges

wore a plaid of protection.

Not beautiful,

but faithful.

A barrier not just against weather,

but for the safety of bare feet,

little hands,

and four restless boys

still learning

how things fall apart.

Connor nodded,

arms crossed.

“Well,” he said,

“I guess we’re going for the plaid look now.”

And the room exhaled.

The glass man’s coming soon.

The light will return,

uncut and easy.

But tonight,

the house wears its wound with grace.

It flaps a little

when the air kicks in.

And I can’t help but think—

aren’t we all

just trying to hold our homes together

with what we’ve got on hand?

A strip of tape.

A breath of patience.

A brother’s voice

softening the edge.

Maybe the fix isn’t in the pane—

but in the sweep,

in the gathering,

in the moment you choose

not to shout,

but to stay.

Because sometimes

the best we can do

is cover the break gently,

make it safe

until love

can get through again.

After my hair turned white
and had entered my 7th decade,
I took a fall on my bike.
Landed in the middle
of a residential street
where concerned citizens
including a few children
rushed to me
to get a close look
at my bruised ego. 

Overwhelmed 
by substantial kindness,
I knew–
the troops arrived
because I was a little old lady.

I declined offers to haul
me and my bike home, 
so they helped me up,
made sure I could walk
and talk,
then lined
the street to watch me
pedal away
bravely
on the red carpet.

All I wanted
was a warm bath
and ibuprofen.

I awoke this morning,

Thinking of things which Tolkien wrote,

I don’t know why, but one thing,

Struck me as being of note.

It’s an undercurrent,

Running through his tales,

Though we see it there again and again,

In each one without fail.

But the one defining moment,

Where it’s first spoke out loud,

Is at the door to Moria,

Among the traveling crowd.

After many pompous displays,

Tricks and fancy spells,

Taps and hammers upon the stone,

And all their hopes had fell.

In a moments inspiration,

Or was it in surrender,

As the words above the door were read,

“Speak friend and enter”.

It was a simple riddle,

Though the answer’s so oft forgot,

Declare yourself to be a friend,

And forget the tommyrot.

Of course there’s more to friendship,

Than just the spoken word,

Actions speak louder,

And above the din are heard.

But we find in the beginning,

Even the most guarded door,

Opens first to friendship,

With no need of more.

It’s fine to be scared but after a month of pain
and worry, appointments and procedures,
imagine your relief at finally
understanding the cause of your pain
and be ready to live your life again.
Think about all your delicious plans.

Calm yourself with the deep breathing
I do at choir rehearsals: inhale through 
your nose for two beats, exhale for twelve.
To release your tension, inhale and blow
out through your lips, making them vibrate.
Modify your favorite yoga positions.

Talk to everyone around you. Ask questions.
Your family is cheering you on:
a brother standing by, in-laws at your bedside,
a spouse devoted to you. Remind yourself
that you are the cat’s meow,
held precious and dear by many.

I chase
            sunsets 
craving
             crimson         

like

ruby lanterns
     shrouded dark in
                 Lascaux Cave

over eons 

I see 
       artists -shamans
on sacred
            journeys
carrying

charcoal
        and ochre 
               chanting deep

          for ritual painting 
horses aurochs bison
             red hands

splayed across cave walls 
and ceilings
             visual prayer

aligned with time 
      aligned with constellations 
opening the cosmic
             door

I see crimson light
          in black 
                       shadows

pinprick domestic dagger-sewn stitch opens:

Everywhere the spirits are hungry.  
In a dream the sea screams at me,  
the world is full of tiny traps.   
Hunted by lions in terrible skins,   
I’m suddenly aware
of what it means to be a body,  
a mouth made for eating darkness.  

I dreamt you and I were walking underwater   
stretched backwards through time
inflamed by moonlight,   
luminous silhouettes wet
with the crushed velvet of desire, 
emptying ourselves into a spiral galaxy.  

We swam through the night
like thirsty flowers, furious fuming stars   
to a point of pure blur, pure erasure.    
Even as the long wave of pleasure falls apart,  
I emerge from the pale nets of sleep   
like a knot of silk loosed, leaving a rip—
grief I couldn’t have imagined the magnitude of.      

~  Cento using lines/ phrases contained throughout Katherine Larson’s poetry collection Radial Symmetry

Remember
nervous energy 
can be re-framed as 
excitement

Instead of letting
the anticipation drain
your drive, take deep breaths 
and imagine

how grateful 
your future self will be 
that you fully lived
while you were
alive 

Paradox of mind and place

In one instance, capable
Of anything, then
A shift and a 
System shutdown
Spotlights the
Precariousness of the
Thriving of a
Complex system within 
Other complex systems

The miracle of
Connectivity, support, and
Relationship remembered,
Respected, and honored