sometimes when
I am alone
only the stars are visible
in the empty darkness
my mother’s laughter
twinkles from Heaven
and I feel the
narrowness
of my grief
The Narrowness of Grief
Breathless Heaven
only the stars are
visible when
the trees close their
eyes and lift
their leaves
in prayer
when this
pinhole light
of heaven
seeps down
breathing song
into leaf
into branch
into trunk
into forest
when shimmery
halo glitter
of ancestral
angels
cascades down
swaying waves
into oceans
into lakes
into streams
and creeks
for all the world
to hear
the music
of hope
for all those
still here
who listen
**first lines inspired by words photographed at The Immersive Titanic Exhibit in Atlanta, Georgia last weekend
100-Syllable Book Cover Reveal
that moment when you
see your book cover
for the first time with
your group of writing
friends and hold back tears
for all the waiting,
for all the writing,
for all the hours spent
anticipating
what you always but
never dreamed so real
and possible and
finally right here
here it is, set to
launch September 2
stay tuned for the link
to our stories, to
our wounds, to our hearts,
to our healing words
Cheers for Words That Mend!
Holding Presence
she’s there
but I can’t
hear her
I can only see her
she comes to me
in dreams
we travel
climb stairs
sit at tables
drinking coffee
in B&Bs
holding presence
Piddling
we piddled together through the mart
antiques, novelties, glove sizers
didn’t buy a single thing
except lunch — (we bought that)
fly in her water
didn’t keep it
sent it back
ordered
wine
Morning Games
I see his figure
peeking around the sage chair
looking right at me
acting non-chalant
resting briefly to lick paws
he stretches out, yawns
as if he does not
have a burning agenda
playing me a fool
his ball rests nearby
then a thump of his black tail
and a sudden pounce
an invitation
to an early-morning game
that I can’t resist
camping pets
Camping families
more than half of us have pets
(One official stat)
An I Miss You Dodoitsu
the day after Open Writes
when we go back to writing
without the company of
friends makes me miss them
my little buddy
when the others are getting
breakfast treats in the kitchen
Fitz stays with me
my little buddy
when my husband
leans in to kiss me
goodbye on his early
to work days
Fitz emerges from the
covers with warning
snaps ~ firm reminders
of who is who
when it comes to me
he goes where I go
sits where I sit
sleeps where I sleep
thinks where I think
eats where I eat
and is our only rescue
who has never bitten me
my little buddy
he snuggles me
when I read or watch tv
and catches popcorn mid-air
and gazes into my eyes
like I’m his whole world
my little buddy
my soul dog
my Fitzie
Still Life: Black Dog in Brown Chair Nonet
On any given morning, my family members in different group chats begin swapping random photos on a theme one of us starts. Saturday’s theme was our dogs. Dad sent a video of his schnoodle, Kona, getting her 5:30 a.m. treat from a friend at Parker’s gas station on St. Simons Island on their early morning routine walk. My brother sent not a photo of his dog, Kasa, but of the veterinary table where she was getting her shots (she’s a gorgeous Brittany, and I’d show her off every chance I got if I were him). I looked around and caught a glimpse of our aging rescue schnauzer, Fitz, sitting contemplatively in the brown velour chair that has become his window gazing chair.
This chair, one of a pair, matches nothing else in our house, so we have had it listed on Marketplace since bringing it home from one of Dad’s storage facilities to sell. But Fitz loves it so much that we may just keep the velour pair for our three schnoodle boys to call their own. I mean, next to a Velvet Elvis, what could be more of a conversation piece in a home filled with a blend of modern, farmhouse, and antique furnishings? What I noticed about the chair, though, was the variegated colors and the way the light played with the fibers and Fitz’s coloring. Immediately, I envisioned an old painter with an easel, painting a still life of a beloved family dog.
It was my picture to share in the group text.
Dad sent it to a painter friend named Carol to see if it could become an affordable masterpiece. She replied that it was compelling, and that she was glad to receive the photo – – that it will become a master watercolor.
I urged them to note the crossed front legs, showing a recent shave for a dental cleaning, the basking in sheer comfort, the deep reflective thought and philosophical consideration, the way the light plays with the wisdom of old age.
I hadn’t woken on Saturday thinking that Fitz, in a moment of silent reflection, would become the subject of a still life.
But here we are, rocking the reflective moments of life.
note the front legs crossed on the armchair
philosophical reflection
the way the light plays with age
salt and pepper mixed hues
he needs a top hat
and an old pipe
and a lap
to call
home
As the day wore on, I took a few more photos to continue the theme of the day, but the brown velour backdrop on the first pose was the best Fitz shot I was able to capture.
Common Threads 