Somewhere between now and then things changed.
Not talking about writing because it’s “uncool” turned
into published poetry. Wearing makeup to cover
“ugly” acne turned into the fact that imperfections
make us unique. Listening to “popular” music turned
into blasting my own music out the window unashamed.
Being afraid to “fail” turned into believing every experience
can teach me something new. Running away from my fears
turned into facing them head on. Being scared of my future
turned into working towards my dreams. Somewhere between
now and then I realized I only live once and I want to
savor every moment I can. Somewhere between now and
then I realized I wasn’t in my cocoon anymore, instead I knew
I was a butterfly flying towards my next adventure.

A young girl, neck graced with red-inked bats, screams John Proctor IS the Villain.

shines 
like streetlights 
in puddles 

Four moon rays shine bright
across the dark gray night sky
blue hew on green trees

generous mist sweeps hillsides,
setting off rain crow moans
until clouds lift toward sun,
which beams down-holler
pushing droplets into bows,
their pale remonstrance
a mask of these mountains
and their meaning

I didn’t die, just stopped crossing off the days. There’s a difference.
    What’s the difference? 
I said it. I declared it. I know it. 
The difference is I come back, write, write, write. 
All the little birds in my head, 
even with their broken, skinny wings, 
flap and squawk. 
Write, write, write. 
    You’re poisoning yourself. 
No, I’m not. 
Am I? 
Is that why I feel so sick all the time?
There’s no gray in the world I have not touched. Not an eraser, 
but a brush with a drop of water on the very tip. 
Damp bristles. Washed out, stealing color that hasn’t been sealed. 
Hasn’t been given time to seal. 
Is it my fault?
    If only you knew beforehand. 
    Only if you did it with your own hand. 
I did. How do I apologize? 
    Best to just leave it. 
    Leave. 
    Killing has no forgiveness. Suck the life out of something
    and look at it after with all the guilt you can muster. 
    Did it change anything?
No. I only felt worse. 
    Maybe you should. 

sip the morning’s coffee hot and black
only from the smallest mug
else the bottom half grow cold

nap and 
call out upon waking
that you can no longer see

wave at the woman 
wearing a red hat
who is really our coat tree 

laugh at the height 
of the ceiling
in our “hotel”

cry when we  
bathe you, dry you,
change your clothes

sleep and
dream of your children
as children

forgive us 
for knowing these hard days 
won’t last for long

Life’s blessings often come unexpected and unannounced.

This morning, my dog is extra affectionate.

I savor the feeling of her in my arms,

the comforting weight of her,

as I scratch her ears

and rub her belly

and tell her how loved and wanted she is.

I do not know when I’ll get to hold her this long again,

pouring my love for her into every touch,

grateful for this spontaneous miracle.

It rained hard overnight,
which would usually rouse me, but
I slept right through it,

waking to roughed up trees,
disheveled leaves blown around the yard,
and power blinking in and out.

The little ephemeral stream
running along our yard
churning water funneled from the

confluence of hills up in our holler.
The air remains thick and paints
my face with a sheen of slick sweat as

I stand on the porch surveying the sky.
It’s still early, but cicadas already scream.