Your skin glistens, draping your form like sun-warmed honey.
Full of the sweetness and delights of womanhood. Continue reading “To Oshun, From Margaret’s Daughter”
The wind plays tag with the plump birds in the trees.
Chasing them from this branch to that branch.
Catching them unaware and laughing as they mutter noisily amongst themselves.
The roses bloom all about me.
Pouring their scent onto the dancing zephyrs.
Hearing the confessions of the bees in exchange for cast off pollen. Continue reading “My Backyard”
Everything was white. I couldn’t tell where the floor ended and where the ceiling began. If there was a ceiling. I had yet to encounter a wall. Or chair. Or another person. Or a speck of dirt. Everything was white, glowing white. Except for me. I’m still in the clothes I left for work in. Continue reading “You Are Here”
Settled down. Tucked into bed. At rest feeling the day’s issues slide into the past. Only thinking of the pleasure of sleep. Not considering the troubles that would wake with the dawn. It’s good to rest. To feel the blood in my veins, the air moving in my lungs. Engaged in the symphony of senses. Continue reading “Rising Fire”
He watched his roommate pace back and forth for hours. Each time he passed the phone, he would linger for the briefest of moments. Unusually bright eyes caressed each curve and dirt stained buttons. He had tried to get his roommate to sit down, to be distracted by the routine they had built up together. Continue reading “The Call”
So. Um. Here’s another reason why Keri should wait for the coffee to kick in before getting near any communication device in the morning. Oh Twitter, you suffer my abuses of language, and you do it so well. Continue reading “I Have A Little Poppet Doll”
So I broke apart and bleed in public again. In a Starbucks, no less. The few that asked about my tearful eyes and swollen nose were told, “The Santa Anas have started, and they are taking their due.”. They would smile and nod in understanding, pass on their seasonal advice, and promptly forget about me. Continue reading “Redressing The Wound”
As a child, I had rich Christmases. Each year the gifts were more elaborate and more expensive than the year before. Games and dolls and toys and gadgets to keep me occupied. But I never got what I really wanted. I saw them all as flashy noisy bribery to keep me out of the way. Continue reading “Sunday Scribblings #287: “Present””
This happened over three years ago, in the early spring of 2008. I am reminded of it every time I turn onto the freeway. PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Sleepy driving is deadly. If you are tired, pull over. Better a ticket than killing yourself or others. Do not assume what saved my ass will save yours. Continue reading “A Host Of Shadows”
Migraine time again. So many images sweeping me up into a vortex of cacophonic assaults of light and movement. Many of them, nothing but misfirings of stressed neurons. Something to chuckle at, then discard like a Facebook opinion. But two days after one image in particular, I keep finding my attention drawn back to it. Continue reading “By A Thread”