The parts of mewho used to give a shitabout what we are “supposed” to doare hiding out backsmoking a jointWhile the partwho wants to danceis doing cartwheelsin the front yardafter spending the morningdrinking mimosason a rocky beachflirting with a sunburnAnd for a momentall the partsare at peace
Poems
Do Overs
The time I let my heart sliplike a butterfly, escaping the cocoon.Stretching away from you.Silent.Expected by everyone elseexcept for me – that fresh creature – stretching my paper-thin wings.Dancing with danger.The time I used forceto overpower my baby (physically and his will).Not to abusebut to control to contain.And I watched the reactionin his eyesturn to … Continue reading Do Overs
Believing
I wonder,do animals believe?Does the bird or the field-mouseor the grasshopperbelieve? In magic or fairies? In Gods or ghosts?Do they sense the mysteryof a force bigger than usthan nowrippling through the ages?Or is the capacity for belief that pull and longing that certainty and curiosityisolated to only humans?Are we the only specieswho feel that connection:a compulsionto … Continue reading Believing
Super. Heros?
Today My boys told me Of the silly game They had played with classmates One wanted to be Captain America One, Captain Crunch One claimed Captain Canada (he was born in Canada) The last declared himself Jeff Bezos And so, Captain Crunch decided Bezos sounded like Basil So he would, instead, be Jeff Pesto And … Continue reading Super. Heros?
Salt Dip
Memories of my grandma Often include antiquing Treasure hunting Visiting garage sales, Flee markets, Antique shops, On a hunt For a special salt dip These small, glass dishes Pre-dating salt shakers in origin Became a focus Easy to carry and display (she had a special shelf) Cut glass Colourful (or not) We would hunt Maybe … Continue reading Salt Dip
Old Souls
Youth is wasted on the young What does it mean to be wise? To recognize that catching grasshoppers in the dewy grass on a summer morning is the only thing that could ever really matter At that place, At that time To be satisfied with the beauty and mystery of the universe without seeking to … Continue reading Old Souls
Hands
Some say Eyes are the window to the soul and I (sort of) believe that But if there were a close second I think it would be the hands I have one son (and not my youngest) who will still reach for my hand any and all times I have it free, outstretched at my … Continue reading Hands
A Letter to my mom (or Women on the Verge of a Midlife Crisis)
I get it now In ways I couldn't before The unsettling of The messy middle That lingering urge To get in the car alone And just keep driving The longing For something unclear Out of focus Or just out of reach The sense of loneliness Even while surrounded By so much love So much humanity … Continue reading A Letter to my mom (or Women on the Verge of a Midlife Crisis)
The [Unofficial] Moth Blog 