Valentine’s Day Goals

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Valentine’s Day Goals

In the life I want,
conflict is a butterfly,
rising in my path—
a reminder to pause,
to wonder.

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When You Don’t Go Online

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Lazy Poem

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Our House

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Our House (Draft 2. Final draft on substack ) A house starts as four lines, a red, crayon, box shape with my five-year-old hand's signature stroke. Three decades later, my eldest daughter would switch to green to draw her triangle top. Her younger brother will add twin teal smaller squares, will divide them into fourths.  My mother's eyes should recognize how these windows represent the promise  of known depth, but they don't. The only thing I know? My youngest, a daughter, will not be satisfied. Not until, passing that five-year-old-threshold, she scrawls pink and purple flowerbeds on the right side, on the left. In time, for all of us, the shapes move, the colors layer. Our crayon melts into something we, a kaleidscopic household, can't quite control. Something neither my nose nor their father's can quite smell. Sure, whether here or there, time will be measured in dollars and cents.  Perhaps, like on our broken marriage license, each name on the le...
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Self Compassion Poem

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Tiny Unfolding Beginnings

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 Daily Poem Practice An excerpt from Wild Writing with McKenzie Zajonc — Jump off line from Hannah Rosenberg’s If May Was Your Friend ~ The tiny unfolding beginnings of right here, right now are so small I can barely make them out. Perhaps I’ve begun to indulge in what’s here. Perhaps I’ve begun to open a new something. But I am so afraid of it closing, I don’t dare say more. But it’s here, this tiny unfolding beginning. A note with it’s sweetly pressed edges. A package well wrapped in paper so pretty you don’t want to tear. Unfolding beginnings. The promise of small revelations as long as you keep your gentle courage, gingerly stay willing to open one flap, and then the next, to steady yourself to accept whatever you find inside. 
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