there used to be a heart there
in that hole
with the briers and the mud
her blind spot
his weapon
her head
never knowing
the truth of it
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Tag: coffee
Keep us close
with every contraction, conjunction, and
each oxford comma, crying out
for life
don’t leave us here
without the ink
isn’t it sweet
gray morning
when the sun comes bursting
making me think of spring
isn’t it a gift
from God
in the middle of sadness
to be so warm
the shortest darkest days, our days
we creep, stealing all the moments
velvet. crushing. moments.
I am not yours
any(more)
than you are mine
in the sense
of dirt, sea and sky
remember
each word is not wasted
(something
to remember
in the lean times)
Monday Random: thank you
The miracle of gratitude is that it shifts your perception to such an extent that it changes the world you see.
-Dr. Robert Holden
- This week while boiling off some great broth for Thanksgiving gravy, I remembered that I used to write out a gratitude journal
- I got the idea from an Oprah show in the 90’s, but I’m not sure if the idea came from Oprah or Iyanla Vanzant.
- I learned a few things from both of them back then, but first, the journaling
- Oprah suggested writing 5 things a day you are thankful for. They do not have to be big
- What I learned from this exercise is that choosing to be grateful changed how I viewed the people in my life
- It changed how I viewed God’s influence in my life
- It made me less bitter
- That one is huge
I don’t have your colours
all my words
what I have to bring to life
what you paint over my sky
is it ever enough for you
to see my blues
and the red days
that go well past the horizon
those good intentions
are like roller skates on the ice
and mean about as much
as 1994
still if he asks
I am better and healthier
despite life pressing
into my flesh
like fangs
she doesn’t know who she is
all the clouds look like rain
every man walks by
in a white t-shirt and faded jeans
no one asks her
who she is
no one wants to know
where she came from
all her weather she brings with her
all the storms she leaves behind
Kinder
I am in the kitchen writing out my life
Chopin is in the living room, urging me not to quit
the sadness (over breakfast) and a hurried car ride
heavy and burdensome
I don’t care (I said) because of course
I care more than life itself
but if I have to give up my life
in the process (I don’t care)
Then what is the purpose of living
this strangling, overarching plot
that no one would buy
is dancing in my last nerve
So it is like this. That you will
treat me kindly in the future
and I will continue to write my life
both wonderful and terrible, and
this is the contract I bid you sign
