Two Year Old

A giggling girl runs with a smile
across a room littered with toys.

Through a group of happy two's,
she fights her way to the door,
with arms raised in my direction.

And I scoop her up,
as if time hasn't been passing,
and hold her tight as I can.

But time passes too quickly,
and once again I'm gone,
tears streaming down my face
as they cascade down hers.

Details

I never understood
how writing can be draining

until I truly opened up on the page.

My notebooks,
even this computer screen,
have seen more raw emotion
than even my best friend...

and she's seen a lot.

Writing is a relationship,
it is my heart on the page,
and often times,
no one gets to see that page
but me.

Maybe that seems strange:
it's my heart.
Shouldn't I already know
it's deepest secrets
and greatest fears?

Shouldn't I be aware of
where my heart lies?

Sometimes, I don't even know
until a picture surfaces in my writing...
as if my heart is letting me in
on my own life,
by showing up in a character
or a poem.

It's difficult,
but I wouldn't know
who I am
without writing.

Give Me Strength

Tear roll down my cheek,
lay yourself to rest.
Close your eyes,
wait for sleep;
leave out all the rest.

Lips curl up to form a smile,
words I could never say.
Paint it on,
laugh awhile;
emotions run astray.

Help me Lord, that's all I ask;
the only One I seek.
Heal my heart,
crush defeat;
make this sinner clean.

Momentum

Momentum

We move on, we keep going;

we have to.

It’s about survival,

sanity;

being strong in the face of insecurity and fear.

So we pick ourselves up,

dust ourselves off

and march forward with aplomb.

The Ultimate

The Ultimate

Turn to His word,

always to Him.

It comes back to

The Ultimate;

He was laying tracks

before all of us,

through His men,

David and Paul,

rhyming

and hitting it hard,

before we were even

a speck on the map.

The Ultimate,

that’s what He is.

Throwing His words at us

for centuries.

And we think we’re the artists?

Les Mis

(Written after seeing Les Miserables in London at The Queen's Theatre. I can't wait for the movie to come out this winter!)

“Do you hear the people sing?”
From the corners of the stage,
actors honing their craft in the
historic Queen’s Theatre.

Plush seats in a rounded ‘U’
one balcony above the action.
I take it in from my seat,
alone two rows up
in a crowd of people with
accents that role from their lips
as intermission ends...
and a hush falls over the crowd.

The set, the lights,
the costumes;
everything done so perfectly,
voices ringing out beautifully.
I hold my breathe as Eponine
reaches notes high above the treble clef.

The magic of the theatre covers my skin
with goosebumps,
and fills my soul with hope.

Jack Jack: Character Sketch

(Another character sketch from study tour: this time set in London.)

He holds his father’s hand and jumps across the gap, with the grace and excitement only a child could possess. Hurrying to an empty bench seat, he plops down on the blue and green upholstery.

“It’s five more stops, Jack,” his father says as he sits down next to him. He places the cloth shopping bags he’d been carrying between his feet on the floor as the train takes off.

“I can count that!” Jack says with gusto, a smile on his face.

“Right, you can son. Let me help you with your hood,” Jack’s father says, helping him pull the knitted hood away from his curly blond hair. He then pulls his own knitted hood, both handmade by his wife, away from his own pale, white face. Thomas puts his arm around his son, watching him as he looks about the train car with glee. He recognizes his wife’s eyes staring back up at him as the car pulls to it’s first stop.

“That’s one,” Jack relays to his father as the automated voice tells him they’ve reached Tottenham Court Road.

“Four more to go,” Thomas responds. The doors close and the tube continues on its way, Jack relaying each stop as they pass Holborn, Chaucery Lane and St. Paul’s. He pulls his hood back on and helps Jack with his as the train pulls out of St. Paul’s toward their stop, Bank, where they’ll transfer to the Northern line and ride a few more stops before reaching their final stop, Borough. Thomas and Jack had spent the day searching through Waterstone’s, looking for Jack’s sixth Birthday present. From there they went to Hummingbird’s Bakery on Wardour Street to pick up a batch of Jack’s favorite black bottom cupcakes.

Anna, Thomas’s wife, had spent the whole day cleaning the house and preparing Jack’s favorite dinner. She couldn’t believe her little boy was already six. Thomas and Jack would be home any minute, and guests would arrive soon after they arrived. Anna loved celebrations, any kind; she had decorated the house with balloons and streamers in Jack’s favorite colors, lime green and orange. The rain had cleared up, and she was excited to see her friends and their children, who were coming over for the party.

As she waited for her boys to return, Anna poured herself a glass of red wine and sat down on the couch, mentally preparing herself for the events of the evening.  She swirled her glass around and looked around the living room of her row house.  She finished off the glass just as the doorbell rang, once, twice, three times in a row.  Less than twenty seconds later, Jack was in her arms, his little knitted hood hanging around his neck.  His mouth moved twenty words a second as he spilled out the stories of the day.  Thomas stood leaning against the wall in the cut out between the living room and the kitchen, smiling at his son and wife.  It was the happiest Anna had felt in days.

Eliska: Character Sketch

(This is a character sketch I wrote after my trip to Prague on study tour 2010. Enjoy!)

She’d grown up in Prague, knowing as if instinctively never to look anyone in the eye.  By fifteen she’d held and smoked her fair share of long, skinny cigarettes, much like the one currently dangling from her bright red, glossy lips.  She barely felt the cold of Praugian winters on her perfect button nose, reveling in the fact that it was always perfectly dabbled in pink during the bitter cold months.  The fur coat she donned was well worn after years of use, and she paired it perfectly with black jeans and three inch pumps, in which she walked as if they were merely an extension of her petite feet.  

As a line of tourists walked by, big suitcases pulled behind them, she turned her nose a little higher, flicking her cigarette on the ground and stamping out the end with her pointed, patent toes.  She reapplied her lipstick unnecessarily and entered the café, meeting her friends for an early afternoon breakfast.

Eliska made an entrance wherever she went, with her dark brown hair hanging halfway down her back, and perfect bone structure, she turned heads without even trying. Which isn’t to say she didn’t try; she loved the attention, and did all she could to garner more.  A meeting with friends at a café was no exception, making a lavish display as she kissed each of them on the cheek.  As they sat and talked she leaned her head back and laughed, heartily and strong, yet beautifully reserved as well.  Everyone loved her, from the barista serving her cappuccino, to the woman by the window reading a book.  

Everyone, that is, except for one of the friends sitting next to her, Tereza.  Tereza was also lovely, with her bright blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, contrasting perfectly with her translucent skin.  And yet, no one ever noticed her, because Eliska was always sitting by her side, strikingly beautiful and positively outrageous.  Tereza had also grown up in Prague; the combination of harsh winter conditions and cold-shoulders had thickened her skin, but on the inside there was still a sense of fragility she couldn’t seem to displace.  

Falling Closer Every Day: A Haiku

Hot summer air on
a late August day has me
longing for autumn.

Blue Dyed Insecurity

A woman with blue hair
walks down the street without
self conscious tendencies,
which fade away with her
natural roots.

Get the Words Out

Sometimes, I don't feel like writing;
just like I don't always feel like eating avocados
or watching When Harry Met Sally.

These are some of my favorite things,
but they aren't the only things I do.

I've learned though, from mentors and teachers,
and writers who I wish were my friends
(but are really famous people, who don't know I exist)
that it's okay to not want to write all the time.

But as with most things,
you have to keep going.

You have to put that pen to the paper,
or your fingers on the keys,
and write as often as possible.

Because that's what writers do.

Published pieces don't define writers.
Writing defines writers.

So that's what I'm doing.
I'm writing even when I don't feel like it;
I'm writing when it doesn't seem to have a purpsoe.

I'm writing...
because I'm a writer.

Old Hat

I sit and read
my own words,
from a different me.

Things I wrote in the past,
even just a few months past,
find new meaning in my life.

They teach new lessons,
remind me of old revelations,
help me to figure out the future
by understanding my past.

Some words are hard to read,
some I flip past...
then carefully return to with
my tail between my legs.

Others I read with tears in my eyes,
wondering what it would have been like
if the events described had played out
differently.

But I've wasted time,
sitting in silence on my bedroom floor...
yet it doesn't feel wasted at all.

The Speech: Part 5 (The Finale)

For the integrity of the piece, please read "The Speech" parts one, two, three and four found in the past four posts. And now... the finale!

****

     After what felt like the longest car ride ever, Mac and Lucy pulled into the parking lot of the community center. Mac parked the car and left her hands on the wheel. After taking a breath to steady herself, she unbuckled her seatbelt and helped Lucy out of her car seat. The community center had been transformed from a boring, beige activity room to a dignified ballroom. It seemed as if anything that had stood still long enough had been draped in either red or blue fabric, white flowers gracing each of the round tables. It reminded Mac of her wedding reception, held in a hall not unlike the one she currently stood in, white daisies contrasting with deep orange table clothes. Orange had always been Matty’s favorite color; it was the perfect shade for their fall wedding.

     A buffet was set up near the back of the room, heavenly smells wafting toward the door where Mac and Lucy stood taking in the room. A simple wooden podium stood on a stage at the front of the room, looming over Mac as she walked Lucy to a table marked with a little maroon “Reserved” sign that clashed terribly with the red table cloth.

     After a nice meal, of which Mac took a grand total of two bites, the ceremony started. A man that Mac recognized as police chief took the stage. He stood behind the podium making a speech using phrases like, ‘bravery in the face of danger,’ and, ‘men with hearts of gold.’ Lucy tugged on Mac’s sleeve when the police chief started talking about Matty. Mac hadn’t been paying attention; she was too focused on keeping her breakfast down and whether or not sweat was beading on her forehead.

    “Mommy, he’s talking about Daddy,” Lucy whispered, loud enough for the whole table to hear.

     “...and now, I’d like to invite someone who knew Matt Elson better than any of us up to the stage. Please help me welcome Matt’s wife, Louise, up here to take my place.”

The applause started as Louise made her way to the podium. This was it. She had been preparing for this moment for so long, it didn’t feel like it could be real. Emotions caught in her throat, clawing their way to the top. But as she stepped onto the stage she pushed them down, hiding them back in her heart where they belonged.

     “Thank you,” she said as the applause died down. “Thank you so much. As Bernie said, my name is Louise Elson. This,” she said, motioning towards the poster size picture of Matt in his uniform to the left of the stage, “was my husband Matt. But the Matt I like to remember looked a little different.” Mac placed the frame she had carried up to the stage with her on the edge of the podium, facing the crowd. She took a breath and turned it so only she could see his face. It was better that way.

     “Matt… Matty, was a wonderful man, as many of you know. He was a beloved son, brother and uncle, a devoted family man. But most of all he was a fantastic father and husband. He cared for and loved our daughter, Lucy, so much it was almost unimaginable,” Mac took a breath to steady herself and looked over at her daughter, who was fiddling with her spoon. “She only knew him for four short years… which seems so unfair; but in those four years she knew more love than most little girls know in a lifetime,” She steadied herself, pushing the emotions back down before continuing.

     “Matty isn’t the kind of man that can be summed up in a few minutes, so I’m sorry Bernie if I take too long, cue the music if you have to,” Mac paused to allow for laughter, continuing after a few chuckles. “Unless you knew Matty personally, you will never understand just who he was, unfortunately, and what he meant to so many people. He loved his squad just as much as he loved his family, which is good because he spent just as much time with them as he did with us. He called the firefighters in his unit his brothers, the brothers he never had. And that’s really saying something… he had a lot of brothers.

     “He could make a person laugh when all they wanted to do was cry. He knew how to get our daughter back to sleep after she had a nightmare, soothing her in ways only a father could,” Taking a breath, Mac tried to push down the tears. “If there’s one person who misses Matty just as much as I do… it’s Lucy. She lost her father, something that I can only imagine. It breaks my heart just thinking about it,” Mac looked down at the picture of her husband, mustering up the strength to continue. “But I know that with the help of the people in this room, she will know the man that her father was. And for that, I thank you in advance.

     “When you lose someone you love you go through many emotions. Some mornings I woke up so angry, so red-hot, that I was surprised the bed hadn’t burst into flames around me. Some days all I wanted to do was punch something, anything, and the one time I indulged that desire it cost me two broken knuckles and a hole in my bathroom wall,” Realizing that she had been talking fast, Mac took another breath to calm herself. “Other days all I wanted to do was crawl up in a ball and sleep until the sun went back down. And still other days I didn’t feel anything at all. Most of you would label those days of apathy, but to me they were… bliss.

     “These are not things I am proud of. I am not proud to say that all I prayed for the first month after Matty died was for Matty to come back… come back to me, and to Lucy. I wanted to hug him, and hear his voice… I wanted him to tell me everything was going to be okay,” Mac closed her eyes, a picture of Matty swinging Lucy around the living room flashed in front of her.

“Everyone was saying that he died a hero… and I loathed the fact that he was the one who had to die. Matty wouldn’t like what I turned into when he left; I know that because I don’t like what I turned into when he left. And slowly I’m turning my life around, becoming the person that Matty fell in love with so I can be that person for Lucy. Matty was always my—our rock. In the years that we were married, I learned to lean on him… and now I have to be that rock for Lucy,” this time when Mac looked over at her daughter, she was smiling back at her.

“It’s difficult, and I have a feeling it’s going to be difficult for a long time to come… but we’re getting by. Thank you all for the support, love and casseroles that you have blessed us with the past few months. I don’t know where we would be without you.

     “I’d like to make a toast to Matty now. Matty,” she said, looking at the picture, “I love you… I will always love you. And I will always be proud of the service you did this city. Watch out for us, baby. And don’t worry,” she said, a smile creeping across her face, “I can handle things down here.”

     By the time Mac had finished the speech she wasn’t even looking at her note cards anymore. They remained on the first page, bullet points about who Matty was glaring up at her through tear-streaked eyes. She thought she had shed all the tears she could possibly hold, and yet a stream of salt water ran down her face without ceasing. She looked up at the picture of Matty, staring up at her from the frame on the corner of the podium. She smiled half-heartedly at the crowd, standing stoically in applause. She grabbed the photo and started toward the edge of the stage, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down her cheek. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she saw Lucy walking towards her. She slipped her tiny hand into Mac’s and squeezed a little, looking up at her mom with tears in her own small eyes.

     “Don’t worry, Mommy,” she said with a smile on her face, “it’s alright to cry.”

The Speech: Part 4

 For the integrity of the piece, please read "The Speech" parts one, two and three found in the past three posts. Thanks!

****

     In the morning, Lucy woke up first. Mac awoke to her four-year-old bouncing up and down on the bed, giggling and shouting, “Today’s the day!” at the top of her lungs. When she noticed that her mom’s eyes were finally open she plopped down in a belly flop right next to her.

     “Today’s the day, Mommy,” she reiterated.

     “You’re right, Luce. Today’s the day.”

     “Can I put on my new dress now?” Lucy asked, a smile crawling across her face.

     “How about we eat breakfast first, then you can put on your pretty dress. Sound like a plan?”

     “Yes!” Lucy replied, as she jumped off the bed and ran to the kitchen.

     Mac stayed still for a few seconds more, staring at the ceiling. If Matty were here he would tell her that everything was going to work out perfectly. He would kiss her on the forehead and slide off the bed to follow Lucy before she made a mess with the cereal. ‘You can do this,’ she told herself, taking a deep breath. And with that she took Matty’s cue, climbed out of bed and ran to the kitchen just in time to stop the Rice Krispies from covering the floor.

****

     One much needed shower later Mac was almost ready to go. Lucy was watching TV downstairs, already having been in her dress for at least two hours. She slipped her favorite black dress on carefully and did a last minute check in the mirror. After applying her lipstick, she caught a glance of a picture of Matty. It was her favorite picture, and it had been on her dresser since they had lived in this house. He was wearing a plaid button down and Levi’s, work boots peeking out in the overgrown grass. He was laughing, leaning up against the fence in his parent’s backyard.

     They had been at his parent's farm taking engagement photos. Matty had reached the fence first, pushing his way through overgrown weeds and neglected plants. Mac stopped, watching him.

     “Well, are you coming or what?” Matty had asked, laughing at the care with which Mac was choosing her footsteps.

     “Don't push me, Matty. I'll get there when I get there, okay?” Mac said, navigating around a grouping of wild daisies dancing in the wind.

     The photographer had taken a few shots of the exchange, capturing this photo in the bunch. Mac had ordered a print of it without Matty's approval, and it had been on her dresser ever since.

     She picked up the frame and slid it into her purse, right in between her wallet and her note cards. As Mac walked down the stairs, purse in hand, she heard a small gasp. There, at the bottom of the stairs, was Lucy.

     “Wow, Mommy. You look pretty!” Lucy said, twirling in her red tulle tea dress.

     “You look pretty cute yourself,” Mac replied, kneeling down to her level. “Do you remember what I told you?”

     “Yes, you said, ‘sit still and listen.’”

     “And…”

     “And…”

     “It’s alright to cry,” Mac said, pulling her daughter in for a hug.

     “Oh yeah; it’s alright to cry,” Lucy echoed, squeezing her mom right back.

****

The Speech: Part 3

For the integrity of the piece, please read "The Speech" parts one and two found in the past two posts. Thanks!

Mac woke up practically on the floor, Lucy having taken up over half the bed while she was asleep.  Sun cascaded through the cracks in the blinds, hitting her eyes like daggers. It was Saturday: Pancake Day.  Unfortunately Mac didn't know if she could muster up the strength to stir, pour and fry the batter, but she knew it was her duty. Lucy would expect it; it was and always had been a Saturday tradition.
    Lucy started to stir, wriggling around into a stream of light that woke her up quicker than a bucket of ice water.
    "Good morning, bug," Mac cooed as Lucy slid over to cuddle up next to her. "How about I whip us up some pancakes?"
    Lucy glanced up at her mom and, as though she were testing her limits, whispered, "With chocolate chips?"
    "Only if I can have blueberries," Mac giggled, scooping up her daughter in a tickle-filled embrace.
    'Is tomorrow the big day, Mommy?" Lucy asked while finishing off her plateful of syrup drenched pancakes.
    "It is, Luce," Mac responded, surprised her daughter had remembered.
    "And are you nervous or excited?"
    "Well, honey, I guess you could say I'm both. I'm anxious."
    "Is anxious a good thing or a bad thing?" Lucy asked, continuing her daily interrogation.
    "It could be either, but I'd say its neutral this time."
    "Neutral?"
    "It means it isn't good or bad. It's kind of like zero," Mac explained, hoping that it would be enough of an answer for her inquisitive four-year-old. If Matty were here, he would laugh at Mac for obliging to answer all of Lucy's questions.
     "You know, she's just like her mom," he would whisper in her ear as she washed the dishes. Then he would kiss her on the cheek as Lucy questioned what they were whispering about in the background. Matty wouldn't have answered her; he would have said, "You want to know what were talking about?" while walking toward her slowly.
    "Yes! Tell me! Tell me!" she would squeal from her seat.
    And then he would scoop her up in a bear hug and swing her around the kitchen. Mac would have scolded him for causing a ruckus, laughing the whole time.
    "Mommy?" Lucy said, snapping Mac back to reality.
    "Yes?"
    "Do I have to be actious too?"

     “It’s anxious not actious, honey, but of course not; you can be anything you want to be,” Mac said as a smile crept onto her face.

     “Good, cause I’d rather be excited. I get to wear a pretty dress… right?” she asked, uncertain and filled with glee at the same time.

     “I thought we’d even get a new dress, if that’s alright with you, but, I mean, if you’d rather wear one of your old ones…”

     “NO! I want a new dress Mommy! Please, please!” Lucy interrupted.

     After a day filled with shopping, Mac placed an exhausted Lucy into her bed still in her clothes. She had fallen asleep in the car on the way home, and Mac didn’t have the heart to wake her up. She sat on the edge of the bed untying Lucy’s tiny Keds, mentally preparing herself for the day ahead.

     I’ll have to take a sleeping pill if I want to sleep all night, but if I take a sleeping pill and Lucy has a nightmare I won’t wake up as fast. I can probably go without the sleeping pill; I’ll just read for a little bit. That should knock me out right away. What am I going to wear? I don’t know what time I need to be there; I should probably call someone about that… or check the invite, I bet it’s on the invite.

     As Mac sat on the foot of the bed, watching Lucy sleep, her mind wandered, as had become custom in recent months.

    “She's all ours now, you know,” Matty had whispered the first night they laid Lucy down to sleep in this very room.

     “I know,” Mac had responded, holding Lucy's tiny hand in her own as she leaned over the side of the oak crib, “We can do it...right?”

     “I know you can,” Matty had said, his hand on the small of her back. “You're going to be a great mom, Mac. Lucy is lucky to have you.”

     “Thanks,” she had said, allowing the emotions of pent up hormones to take over her body, tears of joy and fear rising into her throat as she folded into his warm embrace. “You too,” she mustered through the tears. “You too.”

     “Mommy?” Lucy asked quietly from her bed, drawing Mac back to the present.

     “I’m here, baby. What is it?”

     “Mommy, are the dreams going to come back tonight? I don’t want the dreams to come back,” she said sleepily, her eyelids still drooping over her hazel eyes.

     “I hope not, honey. Should we sing a song?”

     “How about you sing and I listen,” Lucy responded, cuddling up to her bear and rolling onto her side.

     “Okay, I will,” she said, clearing her throat, “Blackbird singing in the dead of the night, take these broken wings and learn to fly, all your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise. Blackbird fly, blackbird fly…”

     The song was over before she had time to realize the beauty of the moment. Even though Lucy had fallen asleep halfway into the first verse, Mac kept singing. Maybe it wasn’t even for Lucy. “Blackbird” had always been Matty’s favorite song. He had loved The Beatles for as long as he could remember, longer than he’d known Mac.

     Mac went through the motions of getting ready for bed in a fog, lyrics running through her head like background music to the constant stream of worry. She climbed into bed and fell asleep mindlessly, only to be woken up by the familiar screams of yet another restless night. Mac took Lucy from her room and went through the same routine as nights past. The nights were always the worst.

****

The Speech: Part 2

For the integrity of this piece, please read yesterday's post for part one of "The Speech" before continuing on  with part two found below. Thank you!

****

The first time Mac met Matty face to face she knew she was going to marry him. It was admittedly cliché, and completely cheesy, but when you know, you know.
    It was at a campus picnic, senior year. She had seen him around before, even talked to him on occasion, but she'd never really gotten to know him. But when she put her hand in his that night to introduce herself, something sparked. Time stood still as she looked into his dusty blue eyes, standing out in the open under a fresh buzz cut.
    "Hi," she'd said, dumbfounded.
    "I'm Matt," he replied, smiling a gap-toothed grin while he held her hand just a second longer than was socially acceptable. He'd still gone by Matt then; it was more dignified.
    "Louise," she'd responded, allowing his bear paw of a hand to swallow her own until The first time Mac met Matty face to face she knew she was going to marry him. It was admittedly cliché, and completely cheesy, but when you know, you know.
    It was at a campus picnic, senior year. She had seen him around before, even talked to him on occasion, but she'd never really gotten to know him. But when she put her hand in his that night to introduce herself, something sparked. Time stood still as she looked into his dusty blue eyes, standing out in the open under a fresh buzz cut.
    "Hi," she'd said, dumbfounded.
    "I'm Matt," he replied, smiling a gap-toothed grin while he held her hand just a second longer than was socially acceptable. He'd still gone by Matt then; it was more dignified.
    "Louise," she'd responded, allowing his bear paw of a hand to swallow her own until all she felt were the calloused hands of a working man. His toasted tan skin contrasted with her milky complexion. The moment was captured in her memory like a Polaroid picture, slightly faded around the edges with time. No one had called her Mac until Matty came around. It started out as a playful poke at her horrendous middle name, and of course it stuck.
    Mac's mother was a huge literature fan. She had majored in English Literature at NYU, where she immediately fell in love with the dramatic arts. Mac's middle name came from her mothers favorite play: Macbeth. Mac hated her middle name growing up, lying about it on forms by writing 'Beth' or just putting an initial. Matty had coaxed it out of her one night after they had shared dinner.  Mac would have kept it from him, if she hadn't had so much wine. She wouldn't tell you if you asked her, but she secretly loved the nickname Matty had created.

****

The Speech: Part 1

Here is part one of my fiction piece, "The Speech". Enjoy!

She stood hunched over the sink, staring as the water ran down the drain. Some things in life she would never understand, and she couldn't shake the feeling that this would always be one of them. Life keeps moving; no matter how hard you slam on the breaks and try to pull over, life will move on without you. She stared at the cool water running down the drain, a new thought budding in her brain. Just how much water was the difference between life and death? Surely it would only take a handful or so cupped over her mouth and nose to end the pain... right?
    Before the thought could go anywhere, she splashed the water up at her face, turned off the faucet and looked up at her reflection. 'It doesn't even look like me,' she thought to herself before grabbing the towel off the rack and drying her dripping, unrecognizable face.

    After brushing her teeth and turning out the light, she crawled into bed. Tears streamed down her face, staining the black streaks of pain onto her pillowcase so she could remember all of it in the morning.
    Darkness, more than anything, reveals true emotion. In the dark you could let the tears fly like ravenous falcons. In the dark you could show the one you love just how much you really love them. In the dark you can smile without anyone seeing it. On this particular night, Mac let the tears roll like thunder over a cornfield, low and slow. As the tears died down and she slowly succumbed to sleep, she was startled by a very different sound coming from the bedroom down the hall.
    Mac threw back the covers as the screaming morphed into shouting and, "Mommy! Mommy!" began to bounce off the walls. When she entered her daughters room, she found her four-year-old sitting up, her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead as tears glistened on her porcelain skin.
    "It's okay baby; mommys here; I'm here; I've got you." Mac hugged Lucy so tightly she wasn't sure if her tiny body would be able to go on breathing. She didn't know what else to do, so she cradled her daughter tight and soaked up her tears as best she could. She would hide them away with her own; keep them close to her heart. Lucy fell asleep crying in her mother's arms.  Mac couldnt bear to leave her alone, so she carried her daughter back to her own bed and surrounded her like a nest.
    If Matty were here, he would have stayed in her room, sitting in the rocking chair while she slept. He would have fallen asleep in that chair and Mac would have gone in to check on him, only to cover him up with an afghan and kiss him on the forehead.  Lucy always slept better with her daddy watching over her. His presence would have come in handy now.  Mac cradled her daughter and fell into a deep sleep.

*****

Out There

Is this what it feels like?
Growing up?

Because I know it's cliche,
but if this is what it's like,
I don't want to.

I don't want to follow the rules,
or conform to societal expectation.

But this is growing up...
right?

It's pushy and expensive,
and way out of my comfort zone.

Maybe it isn't growing up
that I'm afraid of.

Maybe it's the unknown,
the other side of graduation,
the rolling hills beyond
the state line.

Maybe I'm afraid of leaving,
but afraid to stay also.

Maybe I'm afraid of losing you.

No.

I am afraid of losing you,
of leaving so much behind.

I'm afraid of saying goodbye,
and walking away from
good friendships,
new and old.

But no one every got anywhere
by standing still.

The world isn't going to come to me.

I have to go,
send me.

Shower Curtain

It sits in my room,

waiting.

Holding out for the day

when I will finally need it.

It represents so much:

hopes and dreams,

freedom and practicality.

Sometimes I pick it up,

and I picture what it will be like...

out of the packaging.

Where will it be?

I think about it a lot,

and really,

it isn't that far away.

Survival

and so,
we make plans
as if tomorrow will never come...

we stay awake all night,
daring the sun to come up
and start a new day...

we make wishes on stars
and cling to face up pennies
found deserted on broken concrete...

We hope.
We dream.
We pray;
we have to.

It is the only way to survive.

Sister

It isn't just her height
that prompts me to look up
to her.

Or her age, which is getting
quite lofty.

But so many things that I wish
to someday achieve.

And sometimes I resent her,
for getting her act together
so quickly.

But that's just between you and me.

It's her style,
so classic.

And her spirit,
so kind.

It's the way that she cares,
always with her whole heart.

And even though
I don't always admit it...

I admire her more than
she knows.


Happy Birthday, Sistow...
Quarter of a century. Wowza. 
Love you to the moon and back.

An Update

I am very sorry for the delay in posts. Summer is a busy time, and I am trying my best to keep up to date on my daily writing, but I don't always get it online. I will catch up in the next couple of days, so be on the look out for a post overload. Blessings on your week.

Every Single Time

There is a moment

when everything changes,

a traceable moment 

for almost every event.

It is the moment when

the first leaf breaks free

and sails to the grass,

jump starting autumn.

It is the moment when 

the first bright green

blade of grass pops up

through the melting snow,

pulling spring from the roots.

It is the first snowflake,

cascading to the ground

on winter's first chilly morning.

It is there,

you only have to go looking, 

through the pages of memory,

and you'll see it.

Two Year Olds

Days on the calender
seem to be flying by
as quickly as the wind
can carry them.

And I am trying to pack
each day full, doing my
best to hold on to the
memories made.

Yet still I know that
at least one memory
will fade completely,
and I will return a stranger
to small faces,
some covered in mud,
that I love so dearly.

Eau de Memory

It always catches me off guard
when the slightest thing
can spark a single memory,
or even the memory of a place.

Sometimes it is the song on the radio,
pulling up pictures of faces
dancing in cars and singing along
at the top of lungs.

Other times it is a particular joke,
maybe even just a word,
or a quote, that can send me into
a fit of giggles bigger than a
two-year-old's temper tantrum.

Still other times, it is simply a smell,
that of the perfume I wear daily,
which has taken on a memory of itself.

Each time I spritz it on,
I am spritzing on a reminder of
places far away...

conjuring up countless memories,
that turn into daydreams
and carry me away.

Always

I am not going to settle
for the anxiety that is
pulsing through these veins
faster than white blood cells.

I will not put up with a heartbeat
filled with worry, over that which
I have no control.

For I am a body full of hope,
a mind bursting with dreams,
and a soul that will not give up
until the very end.

Get the Picture?

I'm not sure you understand,
the difficulty of the situation.

Because if you did,
things would be different,
my Friend.

But here we are,
completely normal;
and it kills me to think,
while I'm biting my cheek,
that you don't even know.

Don't Close Your Eyes

There are nights like this:
a cool breeze in open car windows,
and a good song playing
in the background.

It is nights like this that make me feel:
Alive,
Full of hope,
Dreamy,
and Invincible.

As I drive down the road,
the wind in my hair,
I feel content
for the slightest moment...

Until the future hits
like humidity after a storm.

Long

There are some songs
that have a way of
sneaking into my mind
at the most inopportune times.

At this particular moment,
a varsity choir piece has
dug it's way out of my heart
and into my stream of thought.

And I understand the song
so much better from
this perspective.

I am not yours,
not lost in you...

But I am so lost
in the words.

Pop

A lime green balloon
sat longingly on the
sweltering concrete
of a busy road.

A car flew past and
the balloon bounded into
the air.

And just as it landed
I decided to swerve.

Slipping Through

Stardust and blue moons
Magic moments and fairytales
Tears cascading down my cheek
As the chapter comes to a close

And my mind is whirling
Turning out stories,
Making up memories
Stirring up emotions

I am holding
Handfuls of
Fine sand

Winter's Approach

There is one thing,
I've realized,
that the butterflies
haven't taught me,

and that is how to
say goodbye.

Because sooner than I know,
winter will be here;
and they will leave...

Just like me.

I just don't know
how I'll ever be able
to say goodbye.