Rhythms of Comfort

Whiplash. Home is a word we don’t understand. Moved abruptly from countries and continents, from a place of dust to concrete, in days. From the land of never enough to more than enough to spare. Whiplash.

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Downhill

She peers over the edge of her handlebars, wondering at the hill ahead. Can she go down it with eyes closed? Can she hold her breath long enough to make it to the bottom? Wind in her hair as she unstraps the helmet, dangling it below the bars, she grips the rubber under her little…

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The Birth of Calling

Pregnant pause. I am enlarged with expectancy.  Hoping, dreaming. Making plans, but waiting.  Waiting. For life to come forth. Waiting for the arrival of something new. The weight of all my longing is slowing me down and I am heavy with it. 

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Body Meets Soul

She stares back at me in the mirror.  The dark hollowed eyes, the rounded face, the heavy thighs, the slumped over posture.   I know the contours of her well.  I despise her most of the time.  She doesn’t look like I think she ought to, and she knows it.  I tell her all the…

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