Eaten

Her bitterness grew, eating her organs gradually. When her doctor read the
x-rays, he showed her where her heart used to be, reduced, he said, to the
size of a radish.
“Why are things always compared to food?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he suggested to her, “because of what is eating you.”
She went away, pondering how she might grow a new heart. Perhaps it was
something she could bake in the oven or grow in the garden.

Advertisements

Monday Random–thankful

  • I am glad I did NaNoWriMo this year. I was considering quitting it because I don’t need the impetus to write every day anymore, as I already do that now
  • But I need other things, like interaction. Imput. Inspiratation.
  • There is definitely more there than just a gimmick, or a crutch as some see it
  • But I know it’s not for everyone
  • I got reacquainted with a couple of people from other Nano’s and met a couple of new people I will potentially write with again
  • They have positive attitudes and a spirit of fun that has been very attractive to my grumpy, sometimes pessimistic spirit

Continue reading “Monday Random–thankful”

Our passion can survive any bad meal

We were not meant to last
for we were not drawn that way
food spoiling in the refrigerator
papers accumulating on the back porch
while we explore whether silk or cotton
is best in the heat, and how come ex’s
always find us at the grocery store in produce–
Jeremy found me there, recently
and I hated him desperately
but wanted him to find me doing well

not with Hamburger Helper and Pizza Rolls
in my cart, instead of a case
of Benson & Hedges Deluxe Ultra Lights
a decent Merlot, and a couple of t-bone’s
chilling in the child seat–
and I panicked, grabbing the largest cucumber
obscenely, still holding onto it
to cast eyes upon him once more
but he had walked away–
damn, but he looked good

I’m thinking later, whilst
stirring ground beef on the stove top
I cannot help but wonder
what he was hiding under that brand new
London Fog trench coat
perhaps spaghetti sauce stains
on a wife-beater, I imagine
and the thought makes me smile
turning off the stove, and taking
ten steps to cross the room to you

Three shades of red

lipstick on glass

The next day after wine
coagulated in the bottom of the glass
the smell of it
my lipstick at the rim, smeared
and you, nowhere to be found

Somewhere in the middle of a waning moon
and an angry red sun, I lost you
distracted by dreams
succumbing to sleep
I could not find you when I woke

Like errant glasses or keys
I looked where I last saw you
the stain on my bed, unsettling
until I remembered Merlot at 2 a.m.

You, waxing long about your causes
the president you adored
and the one you would have
strung up if you could

And I was picturing you
with a boat beneath you
sailing and happy, and
when the water came up
to the sheets
I drifted off

 

**Photo from Holiday Wine Tips

Monday Random

  • I could live in t-shirts and tank tops (cotton). Plus, tank tops make almost every body type look attractive
  • I get distracted when I’m watching a movie and the actor is smoking, and clearly not really smoking
  • What’s up with coconut shrimp? I tried that this week. Ugh. Tasted like a Mounds candy bar with fish in it
  • Had some bad picnic food that must have been in the sun too long. I’m always skeptical about pot-luck but even more-so now
  • Isn’t bad plumbing one of the great levelers? Brings down the best
  • I’m not good at fasting. I know periodic fasting is good for me, but I always end up kind of woozy and needing some protein. a couple of eggs do me good. Even a banana helps.
  • I got a real shot in the arm for not giving up on my novel I am laboring over. I read a blog post where a gentleman–Canuck Carl that I have followed since my first blog–ran a 50 mile race. No piece of cake either. But he did not quit. Check him out, and you will be as inspired as I am to never give up on anything worthwhile.

-Rose

 

Monday Random: The war on junk food or How I learned to stop worrying and love kale

  • The trick in healing your liver with vegetables seems to be one of two things: Either hide the vegetables under and within other foods you like, or  b. find more veg that you like and embrace those, and leave off the rest.
  • After all it’s not a prison sentence, the idea is to feel good
  • Door b. is best for me because I like almost all veg, but it gets more complicated with Mr. Street. Still, we have found an accord. He has informed me of the following: He doesn’t eat (ever) eggplant or kale, and b. if I am going to hide kale in something, don’t tell him about it
  • Ignorance is bliss?
  • His shirts from last summer fit better. Next day he said, ‘you could probably put more kale in my smoothies’
  • He loves beets, which I can’t even handle a bite of, so we are a perfect match if you go with the opposites attract theory

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I wanna talk about kale-

Continue reading “Monday Random: The war on junk food or How I learned to stop worrying and love kale”

Sum of my parts

I was composed by
Dickinson and Poe
Ingalls and Alcott
Cummings and Keats;
A pen with the ink of
Matthew, Mark, Luke
John, Ringo, George
And Paul, the apostle;

Shaped by the lashes
of a leather belt
and overcooked vegetables
with Sunday roast, and
endless vats of gravy
poured into cups

put food on the pain
eat until you’re stuffed;

Composed by Rock of Ages
What a friend we have in Jesus
sung by saints and the
pure-of-heart-
wife-beaters-closet bigots
friends and adulterers;

Unexpected kindnesses
wrapped in Jean Naté
and Chanel No. 5
a soft, wrinkled hand
with hard candy
wrappers that crinkled
during the prayer;

Constructed by long rainy walks
endless nights without sleep
teachers that saw through me
a welcome friend
in the middle of the heat;

Each cell, every organ complete
I won’t deny any of them
for to remove the painful limbs
would cause the others
to fall apart;

So I walk on
head up-chin out
this is me
take me or leave me
this is who I am
a sum of my life

Until I am done
I’m coming Grandma
some day-to sit next to you
and hear the rest of the stories

Of how we were all
written-prodded
stewed, and shoveled
into what we are