There is nothing
Blank mind, tired body
Fresh out of thoughts
Full head, rehashing dread
Worried by my oughts
Pen to paper, write it down
Then burn it all to hell
Leave no trace, saving grace
No water in the well
Blank mind, tired body
Fresh out of thoughts
Full head, rehashing dread
Worried by my oughts
Pen to paper, write it down
Then burn it all to hell
Leave no trace, saving grace
No water in the well
Random Tuesday
partially sunny
62 degrees
no particular plans,
but I wear the red dress,
the red dress that reveals
the red dress that doesn’t apologize
the red dress that magics my gray eyes to blue.
I wear the red dress shopping;
I buy avocados
and guess a stranger’s zodiac sign.
I wear the red dress hiking;
I wander the woods
and find a rock shaped like Kentucky.
I wear the red dress to a biker bar;
I order their best bourbon,
and kiss a much younger man
whose name I do not ask.
When I come home,
I don’t dare take it off.
I wear the red dress
as I make guacamole.
I wear the red dress
as I call my best friend.
I wear the red dress
as I dance alone, barefoot,
to “Just Like Heaven”
by The Cure.
Later, I wear the red dress
out into the night
to howl at the moon
and frighten my neighbors.
I only slip it off
and onto the hanger
so it will not wrinkle
as I sleep.
Again, tomorrow, I will
wear the red dress.
words wing their way around the room.
so graceful. prophetic. elegant in their honesty.
poems and stories touch paintings
sculptures, photographs–our souls.
voices and vision joined tonight. This We Believe
names the art installation. surrounds us.
I believe the words lift us above Kentucky farms,
to the center of mental illness, next to a child’s fear.
we laugh at a comedy script
shiver hearing voices in a cemetery.
five writers offer us their gifts.
we leave believing.
Ask the Creative Unknown how it calls you.
After getting an urgent phone call
jumping in my car and rushing to
pick my son up and get him to
the ER, I am waiting again
He is hurting badly,
and my mama’s heart
is breaking for him, yet,
I am waiting again
After many tests and
very compassionate
treatment and a psych eval,
I am waiting again
Waiting for the hospital
to release him to go home,
he is physically feeling better,
yet, I am waiting again
Waiting for something that I
can’t force, although, I have
tried before, it doesn’t work
and here I am waiting again
A kind hospital employee pulled
me aside and compassionately
told me that this is not my choice,
it is only his, and I am waiting again
Waiting for him to be ready to
change his life for the better
and leave the alcohol and drugs behind
but I AM waiting again
Waiting for what could be a tragic
phone call or home visit telling
me that it is too late, I am left
Waiting again
I know in my heart and mind
that only he can make this choice
and while I understand this,
I am waiting again
Living my life knowing that
a part of me is in such dire
circumstances and danger, leaves me
Waiting again
This is not what I was hoping for
my child’s future and it
brings me so much pain to be
Waiting again
Waiting and praying and just
being here when he needs me,
each time being crushed
when I am left waiting again
The terrarium sits on the windowsill, a miniature jungle trapped in glass. Lush green grasses unfurl delicate fronds, their edges catching the sunlight like emerald lace. Chia carpets the base, a secret world hidden amongst the smooth pebbles.
With empathy
we begin to understand
the urgency for change
that charity begets kindness
With gratitude
and heightened awareness
redemption is possible
atonement necessary
With regret we acknowledge guilt
for all in proximity
and challenge
our belief system.
A collaborative poem from workshop on privilege
“it’s you and me against the world love,
I got your back”.
It’s funny,
how you made me,
your world.
They hammer nails in my head
and say: You’re having a vacation.
The sooner I learn not to complain,
the sooner I arrive at my destination.
