cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I keep returning to the girl in the grave. Gray and without breath. With armor to protect her heart and masks to wear for any occasion. She knows the intrinsic ways of each role she is expected to play. I resurrect her when I fear love. She knows how to get through this life.
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Yes. I regretted saying it. But I said it with my whole heart being attached to it and my soul knows. I can’t back out. Yes. Some Preacher suggested that loving Christ meant being so ready to love him, follow him, we would say Yes before even knowing the question. I was compelled. I said…
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I will not make my children be second-hand owners of their spiritual lives Itching and squirming in it-fitting hand-me-down values, Tripping over hems left long to conceal all things and restrict the feet from wandering, Suffocating under high collars drawn up to keep the throat and it’s expressions muffled in subservience masquerading as respect.
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Orion will teach me the answers to questions I ask through chattering teeth. Diffused along the smoky veil of my condensed breath, diluted among the ragged inhale of subsiding sobs. Barefoot under the thin shadow of a moonlit dogwood tree I endure the sharp winter air. My small body squatted, legs tucked inside my pound…
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It’s freezing here- No it’s actually too hot. I tried to like it And YOU Failed Me By placing me In a desert With invisible walls.
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No. A simple word, Two letters. A determiner. An exclamation. An adverb. The absence of something. We start by saying “no” to the things that we don’t want, even if we don’t know what we do want.
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effervescent collapsing wave remnants but roar and smash. crash and echo. trapped shells cascading in suction, receding. reverse
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Below are a couple of poems about ways we self-protect and “pull” people to feel a certain way about us. I have done these, felt these and seen them play out around me. I hope reading about them sheds light on our relationships in a way that acts as a window to let grace in…
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Of half-formed thoughts, of coitus interruptus, It’s heading to the living room and then being called to the kitchen It’s constantly having other’s wants and needs privileged over yours. Don’t read into this though. I am not complaining
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“I killed my brother! I killed my brother!” I scream as I run into the street after the ambulance. “No, honey, you did not kill your brother,” my kind neighbor, Lois, pulls me close her voice purring into my numb unhearing ears. “He’ll be okay. It was an accident…an accident.” So many times I’ve been…
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