There was a vague twinge in the Universe that woke me from my dreams that night. A soft, wordless whisper that gently grazed my mind with fingers like spring petrichor, wisdom surging from strings of lavender and copper smoke, an electric static burst that exploded around me in the darkness. A message, transcribed in the … More Wake
On Sunday, I walked the woods where I spent my childhood. My mom sold her house and two of her ten acres, but the eight acres that are left are up for sale. Which means I try to get out there and walk it once a week while she still owns it. In the spring, … More The Forest of My Childhood
Oh god. This is torture. This is torture feeling two totally conflicting emotions. Loss and gain. What sights might I see! Ask me for a drink? Or coffee? I can’t decide what I’m doing. Oh god. Wander around the town I grew up in Late nights on dark streets Whispers and my head hangs low … More Oh God
I am a Vermonter, and up here we don’t have poisonous snakes – mostly, anyway- but my mom used to mow them over when she saw them. She claimed she didn’t want them to get into the woodpile or the basement. I’m sure somewhere in her past she has a story of being assaulted by … More Snakes!
I’ve had a horrible headcold for the past couple of days. Last night I was coughing and choking on my own phlegm when I started crying. I realized I don’t have anyone to cuddle up with me when I’m sick anymore. And that sucks a lot.
Tired of everything. Ready to dig my own grave Throw myself in after a few bad choices Some harsh words from negative people I still call my friends for whatever reason I can’t exactly fathom. They assume the worst of me instead of the best and that’s what motivates me to get out the shovel … More No
There is nothing in the darkness But smoke and shadows Flickering off the old rooftops of Eerie broken homes Shattered windows the broken teeth In wooden clapboard faces Rotting under the cruel hands Of rain and wind and snow and sun Bearing down like strong words Whispers in a crate Hidden in the attic Your … More Imposters
I used to run to the sounds of popping trees, when rivers whispered underneath a layer of thick ice, when maple trees lay dormant in their groves, the taps and buckets the neighbor used on them still stacked in his shed. I used to say to my brother, “we need to find a way out,” … More Untitled