At the Dentist

I write in waiting rooms
waiting in rooms, I write
in rooms, I write about waiting
in writing, I wait in rooms
I wait for my son as I write

Snippets

The child spins in circles
she sings, flaps
nonsensical ditties
of joy and pain

they make love by holding hands, while the world dissolves around them

you, the one that took risks, not playing chess, choosing instead your own rules. your own board, and all the characters of your creation

Kitchen counter-
littered with pizza boxes, pop cans, piled with papers- bills of years long past, bags of last month's groceries, never put away- shots of insulin, prescription papers still folded in squares and doctor summaries- All this I get to clean out when you die

All that I love tonight:
sunsets of chirping birds
acrid smell of leaves tossed on the fire
flaming marshmallows
crisp air
might be lost tomorrow
when I return to school

I remember the scent of my father's halitosis but his conversation was too interesting to turn away

I wanted to return to the sunbleached shores with unstable fishing piers
home to the ten families that remained in adobe huts
faded, by the jade sea

My grandmother's
voice rises and falls
songs of old
of ancestors
of heritage

Shower hope
confess the possible
Earth
Created
lucky soothing
electric vibrations

Grief

wrinkled, tear stained face
looking at his hands

across the grass
a grave he knows too well

his tears had watered the flowers
he had planted

he knees won't bend anymore
so he won't kneel
unless he chooses not to get up again

a tempting thought today
to lay down there and stay

It starts with C

Breakfast and brunch
nothing but cookies
dinner and lunch
nothing but cookies

my blue fuzz
hidden under a peachy complexion
stretches the waistband of my pants
but I won't shave
everyone wants to hug
pet me
pat me
bring  me cookies
 and we'll C

20 years ago

20 years ago
I was a ballerina     now     I am a martial artist
20 years ago
I decorated cakes     now     chocolate cakes count for breakfast
20 years ago
I made sense out of the world around me     now     I see reason in nonsense
20 years ago
I thought the right business model could fix the world     now     I believe becoming our best selves is the world
20 year ago
I saved clothes for special days     now     I make every day special

New Years Resolutions

The big question:
Whom do I want to become?
What is she like?
Is she brave, fearless?
Does she learn new things and practice until she is better?
How does she differ from whom I am becoming today?
Maybe she makes and eats real meals, after years of living from lunch bags and car snacks?
What does she do for an income?
What does she do to make that into a life?
Who and how does she help others?

One thing for certain is that she is in control of herself, but takes her circumstances in stride.
She accepts her humanity, and trys to improve and stretch it.
She accepts her body, and trys to take good care of it, build it, stretch it, use it, enjoy it.
She believes there are no limits, when given enough time and work.
She accepts that everything is a work in process, including herself.

The Birth of a Paper

Writing a Seminar paper is a lot like giving birth to a baby.
Going into it, I get an urge to clean, only this time, not the kitchen, it is shelves of the library. I scour them for everything I can find related to my topic. I waddle out of there, my hands low, wrapped around the big belly of books that reach to my chin.

When the labor of writing sets in, there are lots of deep breathes, moans, squeaks. Inbetween expulsions of words, I get up and pace, looking for nourishment to fuel my task, to stretch my sore muscles. My back aches, my hips are sore. Sleep comes in fits. No diversion works for long, back to the pushing, relentless and seemingly never-ending, until in full bloom the paper emerges, full of the red squiggly lines, mucus of misspelled words and grammar mistakes. It needs to be cleaned off. It needs to be wrapped in the proper format.
Then exhausted, I sleep, snuggled up to dreams of concepts that came to life as the paper's ideas were born.