• It’s here –
    a life defining moment

    STARE into the possible –
    be with, do not force

    Be grounded –
    no need to QUAKE

    Imagine a safe place –
    a verdent GLADE, a
    realm of abundance

    This is not a battle –
    no need for a BLADE,
    soften defenses

    Walk forward –
    embrace gently the emergence
    of tender newness

    Georg’ann

    Visiting Echo Park

    Climbing the steep stairs,
    a public walkway gentrified,
    he tells us childhood stories.
    So much happened here.
    FINAL time these chapters
    might be told. An aunt in LABOR,
    each step excruciating.
    Little boy temper tantrum
    about wanting a bike.
    Frustrated mother hit him
    on the head, with a glass bottle.

    To the left a garden. Back then
    it was an empty dirt lot,
    tall dried grasses to hide in.
    Setting a paper airplane on fire,
    he started a BLAZE. Dangerous

    sitting in the midst of flames.
    Firefighters intimidating, fear.
    Years later gang fights.
    When the BLADE came out, ran
    home so fast, ducking into yards.
    Spaces he knew well.

    We eat tacos across the street
    from where his father’s upholstery
    shop had been, down the street
    from his uncle’s auto repair.
    Paper routes, candy stores.

    Returning up the steep staircase
    I see a clementine. Pick it up,
    hand it to him. He tosses it
    down the gully like the marbles
    and rocks of yesteryear.
    We watch the orange ball bounce,
    picking up speed as it rolls.
    This old man a boy again.

    Heather

  • He was a man of MEANS
    At first glance, STAID and aloof
    He did not seem the type to carry a FLASK
    Or one to FLASH a diamond pin
    Or a gold tooth or wads of cash

    But the swells all knew him
    And oh, the tales they could tell
    For come evening time
    He’d shed his daytime demeanor
    And head for the clubs

    The band would start,
    And he’d be transformed
    Rumba or tango or fox trot,
    Mambo or swing or even a waltz,
    He loved them all

    He danced and danced for
    The sheer joy it would bring
    He danced into his seventies
    Into his eighties and beyond
    A joy and delight to all he met

    Georg’ann

  • All day I felt giddy anticipating the reaction to an unexpected, bountiful BONUS. What fun for me to see her STARE with huge, incredulous eyes at the stack of bills tucked in the card. The magic for the season, every year it happens one way or another.

    Perhaps it started the year my 9 year old self dragged home a discarded Christmas tree found in an alley. I set forth to bring about some kind of magic for my mother, which really was for me. Pulled it with a STRAP about a mile.

    That little Lord Jesus born on some STRAW, he and his mother both outcast miracles, light bearers. And there I was, centuries later, a child walking the alleys like some kind of STRAY, trying to bring light and joy to a mother as poor as the Virgin Mary.

    Heather

  • Christmas CRAFT night with a friend.
    Stringing popcorn and cranberries
    into garlands for trees, birds
    or bookcases. Poking cloves into citrus
    patterns of brown against
    vibrant orange, an evocative scent.
    Mid evening, from states away, texts
    with images of orange peel mushrooms
    dotted with white paint, sticks for stems
    and twine to make them ornaments.
    My daughter sharing the makings
    of her Christmas craft night with a friend.
    As OFTEN happens we unknowingly
    enter the same orbit, find ourselves
    tethered in space, apart but not.
    For tonight, that which is HEAVY
    rests within a basket of good cheer.

    Heather

  • Putting a COVER on the STOCK pot, I SCOLD and SCOWL as if that will make the outcome more certain.

    Georg’ann

    Though they could VOUCH
    for shared values, this
    alignment didn’t get them CLOSE
    to agreement. Both sat with faces
    forward all SCOWL and clenched fist.

    Heather

  • Oh my goodness, it is truly one of the WORST things, to sleep poorly night after night. It feels like cruel joke, to sleep in a ragged incomplete way, night after night. It is something I would not FOIST on my worst enemy. Tonight, I expect that I will COAST along easily to dreamland. May I wake in the morning able to BOAST of excellent rest.

    Georg’ann

    With the SOUND of laughter
    we left history in the cupboard.
    More to write but not today.
    Chapter by chapter, slowly
    bringing stories into light.

    When this work is done we might
    have a roaring fire, setting them
    to ROAST. Tonight she’ll COAST
    through crafts for distraction.
    Shelled peanut nativity scenes,
    rocks painted like fluffy sheep.

    It was hard. The kind of day
    that begs for impossible comfort.
    Accepts tea with TOAST and jam.
    Despite other’s appreciations
    nothing here to BOAST about.
    Only a tender heart bursting.

    Heather

  • Switch up the MEDIA
    Watch them FLOCK into the room
    FUNKY dancers groove

    Georg’ann

    French Country Picnic

    SHADE on the hillside
    FLOCK of sheep graze in shadows
    We eat FUNKY cheese.

    Heather

  • BOUND by a promise to get a dog, David and his little girl DROVE out into the county to fetch an adorable little yellow lab puppy. The sweetness of the moment was almost too much. They were smitten by every feature of the pup, from the DROOP of her soft velvety ears to her sweet disposition. No one minded the little sharp puppy teeth, the messy DROOL from all the kisses. Ostensibly a gift for a little girl, in truth, she was a gift to all of them. It was a Christmas to remember.

    Georg’ann

    We took her to a FANCY restaurant.
    The kind with cloth napkins.
    Which she didn’t realize
    were for using, laid it in her lap
    and later asked for something
    to wipe her mouth. “But it’s white
    how will they get it clean?”

    Watched the cook work
    the DOUGH, fill something
    from a pastry bag.
    Ate with hearty appetites.
    Finished with green salad to DETOX.
    Ready to DROOP, full and tired.
    Then the dessert cart,
    which made us DROOL.

    Looking around she stated
    she’d like to work here
    when she gets big.
    Now to the theater,
    balcony box seats.

    Heather

  • Ready for a PARTY —
    Ready to dance into
    A FRESH take on life
    Listen for those LOWER notes
    Pulse with that backbeat
    Step like the MOVER I am
    Light on my feet like a BOXER
    Feint, spar, and swing
    Jump and jive, baby!

    Georg’ann

    He never went to TRIAL
    though he appeared before the judge.
    Wearing the orange jumpsuit.
    Chained in a line to fellow inmates.
    Each waiting their ROUND
    to be spoken about, asked
    if they understood. Though not really
    caring if they did.
    Moving quickly through details.
    Didn’t COVER much. Rote process.
    No sense of humanity in any of it.
    Caught a glance from his scared, sad eyes.
    Wanting to maintain bravado of a BOXER.
    Knowing he was in for a knockout.

    Heather

  • At the TRIAL, it became clear that the family’s effort to put a SHINY veneer on their behavior was a sham. Under the guise of attending the DYING matriarch, they were busy EYING the heirlooms and extensive art collection. There was a lot of very messy VYING for the position of most loved heir. I doubt they wanted there to be a trail of bodies leading to this moment. The irony? The object of all this attention, Madame H herself, was not so close to death’s door. It’s funny how things are working out.

    Georg’ann

    Glancing around the room feeling
    an impulse to SCOUR the floors.
    Reset my foundation if you will.
    Bring a gleam to the wood
    let an almond scent waft upwards
    riding the heating currents that
    blow in the night.

    Ready to revive this DINGY room.
    EYING the walls, noting faded paint.
    In point of fact, I’d be LYING if
    I said there was anything here
    worth keeping. I’m not the same
    woman who created this space.
    No part of that me VYING to remain.

    Heather


    As we ended our day, in our goodnight texts, Heather found a final burst of play for today’s 6 unappealing words. Here is a bonus round: We are posted. My cranberry bread is baked. I sure wish I could shower! Need a good SCOUR, feel so DINGY. EYING the bed, feels icky to lay there, I’m not LYING. But happily all the things VYING for my attention are at rest as best they can be for the night.

  • GLIDE across the floor
    BLUSH pink silk rustles and swirls
    Gentlemen queue, hearts beating
    Crystal beads dangle from ceiling
    Like dozens of sparkling PLUMB lines

    Georg’ann

    I would not TRADE my life
    for any other. Like sandstone
    hills, etched and pocked,
    into exquisite beauty. A sense
    of history, wide expanses
    of something solid. Recesses
    grand, and tiny too, carved
    to give shelter.
    Waters move through.
    Fall and pool. Small swirls.
    Sometimes terror here,
    more often wonder.
    LUCKY for it all.
    Roots and rocks rise,
    covered in PLUSH moss.
    Shaped by the elements,
    nothing hangs PLUMB.

    Heather

  • WOULD that I were a fine gentleman, sipping BROTH with a silver spoon, wearing my ASCOT. I would sit, nattily dressed on my PATIO and pretend it’s the Riviera.

    Georg’ann

    You COURT here no more.
    STOMP on my heart. Flowers wilt
    in PATIO pots.

    Heather

  • In her excitement about the HEAVY TROUT on her line, Frankie almost blew it. But her mama and Uncle Frank had taught her well. She played the line and managed to bring the big fish in. But in truth, it UNDID her to catch sight of the beauty and SPUNK of the creature. It twisted and CLUNG to life. In the end, saying a prayer of thanks for the moment, she FLUNG it back into the ice-cold river. Carefully walking back across the slippery rocks, she wondered if anyone at home would understand why she had done that. Gathering up her stuff, she looked back at the river — the rushing water, the play of light, the insects swirling in the clean, clear air. The beauty made her heart hurt with emotions beyond her 12 years. She knew this was important but couldn’t quite say why.

    Georg’ann

    Without the cat sleep has changed.
    Deeper, steadier, more vivid.
    Each night DREAM after dream.
    Being STUCK in a shed somewhere
    on the edge of town, afraid
    of being discovered hiding there.
    Walking along a wide BLUFF
    overlooking a clear deep stream,
    fish swimming over spotted rocks.
    Images FLUNG into being,
    what meaning they hold
    is of no interest. I don’t want
    to puzzle through my psyche.
    My preoccupation is with timing.
    These dreams mark the nights
    without my constant companion.
    I want the comfort of disrupted sleep.

    Heather

  • SHORT are the days, so best
    make a list, it will come in HANDY:
    a furry HYENA, spotted and cute
    a teddy bear, traditional and sweet
    games for everyone
    cookies to bake
    dinners to plan…
    Oh, my! No time to waste!

    Georg’ann

    A PARTY with those most LOYAL.
    Friends kept me from the ABYSS.
    Oh did we laugh, I like a HYENA.

    Heather

  • The TENOR of the place was spooky. As she approached the SHACK, Marie regretted having taken this job as a census worker. So far, this HILLY, rural area had been charming. But, now, she has no confidence that it will remain benign.

    Georg’ann

    What of her YOUTH remains.
    Still those sparkling eyes, seeing
    the world through artist lens.
    Captivated by light and shadow,
    reflections in SHINY objects.
    Still plucking that one HAIRY mole
    on the far left side of her jaw.
    Still desiring hands to caress
    the curves of her HILLY body.

    Heather

  • Winter

    School on DELAY
    Snow on the way
    Kids happily EMOTE
    Parents struggle to cope
    All fumble and GROPE
    For scarf and coat
    CHOKE down gruel
    Body needs some fuel
    Tumble and SHOVE
    Grab a glove
    Out the door
    Gotta explore

    Georg’ann

    An idealized winter eve

    I CRAVE the scent of pine,
    the taste of warm cocoa,
    a good mystery to SOLVE,
    steady snow falling in the dark,
    white amaryllis blooms unfurling,
    the crackling of a wood STOVE
    when I SHOVE in another log.

    Heather

  • ‘Tis the Season

    Busy sounds make a happy NOISE from every kitchen
    Spicy smells follow, wafting along on the breeze
    All around the block, bakers ENDOW homes
    like wealthy bankers beset by a fit of generosity.

    Georg’ann

    What the body holds onto.

    Her father had strong opinions.
    To SWEAR was inarticulate.
    Only china for tea and coffee.
    No mugs for this man.
    Curry used to disguise rotting meat.
    Garlic was an unnecessary
    assault on the tongue. He’d have none.
    WHITE clothing strictly held
    to June, July, August. No exceptions.

    Weight was to be kept BELOW
    certain markers, which was
    monitored by weekly weighing
    of his daughters, both of whom
    failed to meet the standard. Ever.
    He did not mean to ENDOW
    them with disorders. Surely not.

    In the months after his death,
    without changing a thing,
    100 pounds went missing from
    the youngest. A lifetime of heavy
    handed expectation melted away.

    Heather

  • Aging brings a special AGONY, for sure. We now are of an age where we are losing friends to death more than to moving away. I have cried so many times this year that my eyes feel like they’ve been through a DRYER. These events do not make me any readier to have my own TRYST with death. On the contrary, I am fiercely alive and ready for more. Let me not yet enter a CRYPT for a final time, order not my funeral flowers. Save that for later.

    Georg’ann

    These words require a particular VOICE, which is not mine. I experience them as a CLAMP on my imagination, a stopper in my bottle of sensitivity, a dam holding back my vast waters of expression. The word CUPPY renders me locked tight as a CRYPT. So for tonight I’ll gaze upon our makeshift altar and let my mind wander through the emptiness.

    Heather

  • “4 Smart Guesses”

    So the app says,
    pandering to my PRIDE,
    like a BLAST to the ego,
    a little SNACK of boost juice.
    Definitely a way to keep
    the SHAKY vibes at bay…
    at least for a while!

    Georg’ann

    From the boat came the cry,
    “WATCH out AHEAD!
    SHARK!”
    We turned our rafts around quick.
    Not far to go to get back to shore.
    Felt SHAKY the rest of the day.

    Heather

  • Holding Space

    REACH with tentative hand
    Touch at the ELBOW
    Not wanting to startle
    That’s not my STYLE
    Nor wishing to deceive
    I try to be without GUILE
    No desire to be intrusive
    Hold and behold
    Tend and befriend

    Georg’ann

    Waiting, watching every breath.
    Keeping CLOSE to the APPLE
    of so many eyes. Closing time.
    Her head in my hand WHILE we sit
    looking at the withered garden
    of early winter. Came quickly,
    this layered EXILE. Grief,
    your GUILE now evident
    in dried hydrangea blossoms,

    her tattered fur over arthritic bones.
    Barely flesh yet still our sweet love.
    Here only for a few more hours.

    Heather

  • In a PLAIN winter landscape
    Birds hop and scratch in the leaves
    Under the EAVES linger MAUVE petals
    Soft hues against harsh browns and grays

    Georg’ann

    Two forks, one last piece of pie.
    We SHARE it right out of the pan.
    Politely try to evenly GAUGE
    distributions of nuts suspended
    in caramel and oh so flaky crust.

    Silver tines linger
    between your MAUVE lips.
    I have my last taste there.

    Heather

  • Today’s Writing Process

    Pull up a CHAIR
    No time to WASTE
    Steady on and
    APPLY even pressure
    Allow random thoughts
    Be a NOMAD of the mind
    Reject DOGMA
    And have fun

    Georg’ann

    At FIRST there was no BLAME.
    Encountered disagreement as if
    it were travel to a new culture,
    both baffling and enchanting.

    Now it’s like entering the ring,
    punches striving for a CHAMP.
    Each locked in their own DOGMA.
    Retreat to corners, hang on ropes.

    Heather

  • The Land of Nod

    Set a TIMER and
    Slip into the SILKY
    Folds of sleep
    VIVID dreams of a
    Blue HIPPO goddess
    Floating by on a lily pad
    Acolytes dance
    Weird songs fill the air
    Daytime naps —
    What a delight!

    Georg’ann

    Ghosts HAUNT these woods,
    feel their presence HOVER
    in evergreen branches.
    Visit cave of old man HIPPO.
    Read his story on a plaque.
    Later, at the house, strange noise.
    Startled hearts thump.

    Heather

  • Apron on, I lean over the fruit bowl, where a fat quince sits. I breathe in its floral scent, so sweet and slightly mysterious. It’s a FINAL moment of stillness before this day of cooking. I walk through the house, feeling the ghosts of the past. They HOVER just beyond my sight, ghostly voices that SHOUT and murmur in my ears. I can even hear dogs of days gone by, underfoot, hopeful, waiting to CHOMP on any stray bit that falls to the floor. Heart and mind CHOCK full of memories. So much past, so many thanks.

    Georg’ann

    He sleeps under the white COVER,
    Curled in a cotton CLOTH nest.
    His daughter in the kitchen
    making CHOPS, her seagull
    laugh rings through the house.
    Accompanied by her daughters
    playing Hallelujah on the piano.
    Side by side. Occasional gruff
    chortle from their father.
    Me sitting in this still room
    watching his breath raise
    the blanket, heart CHOCK full.
    Thankful for belonging here.

    Heather

  • Winter Adjustment Woes

    PROBE the closet, find a single glove
    Pull out another, decide it doesn’t CLASH much.
    Grab a sweater with enough holes that you
    Guess the last person to wear it was
    SLAIN where they stood.
    Grab last week’s jeans, making sure
    Not the pair from the rag-bag.
    Throw it all on and give self
    A SLANT-wise look in the mirror.
    Decide it works, and if anyone asks,
    Just say you’ve been called on to
    Illustrate a SLANG dictionary
    For the entry on “frumpy.”

    Georg’ann

    After driving hours in blinding rain
    finally a BREAK. Hands ease
    their grip on the steering wheel.
    CATCH a glimpse of rolling fields
    studded with far off black cows.
    Majestic white sycamore trees
    divas among the chorus
    of dark silhouettes.

    Try to AVOID being
    boxed between semi trucks,
    push aside my QUALM
    with an audiobook. SPAWN
    images of a river adventure
    told using the SLANG of
    another time, another place.

    Heather

  • There was a time when I took sleep for granted. It simply happened: a rudmentary, basic routine was all I needed for good sleep. This CRUDE approach no longer works. My brain has moments of PANIC in the night due to my breath stopping. I can no longer take sleep for granted. But it is not something that you can beat into submission with a STICK, so to speak. Falling asleep has to be set up, invited in — and oh, this 21st century world, you are not human-sized! With your lights and noise and constant stimulation. I think back to a moment when we lost power, and all gathered around our table, night fell, candles glowed, babies fell asleep without a HITCH, darkness worked her magic like a WITCH, all our bodies attuned to ancient rhythms.

    Georg’ann

    Halloween Joy on the Square

    Large glass windows
    of the PLANT STORE, filled.
    Leaves like a THICK curtain.
    Peeking through is a green face,
    grinning from ear to ear.
    This little WITCH wants
    to look wicked. Impossible.
    From the sidewalk I feign fear,
    cowering then running out of view.
    Feet light, uplifted by innocence.

    Heather

  • Before the day had gotten started, I felt quite the IDIOT. I woke up way too early, as happens too often these days, and I simply could not find my glasses. I like to maximize the chances that I will be able to go back to sleep, and so I was fumbling around, under COVER of darkness, searching. I could have SWORN that I had put them in their usual place. You might ask why I was searching for them if I was going to go back to sleep. Good question. Well, I was in such a BROWN study, underlaid with a hearty dose of tension, that I wasn’t sure I could go back to sleep. (By the way, don’t you love that expression: why that particular color and why a study? Its origins, the internet assures me, are lost. Sometimes, I think I must be very old, as my points of reference are strangely out of touch with the 21st century. But I digress…) Anyway, I did find my glasses, and I did finally find a book to distract me. I am hoping for better sleep tonight.

    Georg’ann

  • A LIGHT glows
    Arm stretches
    Fingers POINT
    Bend from WAIST
    A spinal TWIST
    Glorious yoga pose

    Georg’ann

    Set one more place,
    our GUEST shall stay.
    Hot soup, candlelit conversation.
    MOIST pear cake, a leftover.
    Cat’s chin rests across her WRIST,
    no rush to move, any of us.
    He tells us the TWIST
    is the biggest seller
    at Crescent Donut. We launch
    into silly food reminiscences.
    Laughing, eyes twinkling.

    The last time we gathered,
    lit these same candles, we spoke
    of fear, loss, what it means to trust.

    Heather

  • It felt like a USUAL morning. My feet hit the FLOOR with a satisfying thud, pushing away the last remnants of sleep. Down the steps I go, all the WHILE dreaming of hot coffee, my BELLY rumbling, and fantasies of dark purple blackberry JELLY to slather on a slice or two of hot buttered toast. And then I realized, this moment, a gray chilly November morning, is not to be treated as run of the mill. What if I open myself up to the delight of the mundane, the joy to be found in the ordinary. May I savor the simple fact of being alive, safe in the moment, sheltered and secure.

    Georg’ann

    I’d already done the day’s writing
    earlier, about a man going
    through a TRIAL with his
    abdominal BULGE, the joys of a donut.
    Humorous fluff to start Saturday.

    Then the mail came
    carrying a charming gift
    from my darling daughter.
    A Bonne Maman Advent calendar!

    Every day a new door to open,
    sweet delights waiting in tiny jars
    lidded with red and white checks.
    Sweet jam or JELLY for toast,
    to enjoy on a warm scone, perhaps
    that dollop of flavor on cheese
    or in a sauce.

    I marvel at her thinking of me,
    tangibly connecting when
    I’ve been missing her so keenly.
    The gesture new, unexpected.

    How tender my heart at receiving
    this particular seasonal magic.
    So much contained and ineffable
    in a plain brown box traveling
    from Philadelphia to Bloomington.

    Heather

  • I trace the line of your profile: my finger gently moves down the bridge of your nose, across your mustache, now startlingly white, down your soft lips, a little dry, scoops along your chin. All is as familiar to me as my own. I think of edges, bumps of land along a COAST.

    Across the bed lies an old PLAID blanket, remnant of some part of the past. Now, we are so blended, I can’t remember who or where or when.
    I think of the PEARL cuff links that sit, unused, on the dresser. I start to stir, aware of this tangled up, messy life: bodies and bedclothes, yes – but also, so much past, cluttering the present, shaping the future

    Georg’ann

    Friend takes PAUSE to pet
    her warm PEACH colored pooch,
    PEARL, while snow cascades.

    Heather

  • After the CRASH, we SPENT a lot of time trying to straighten her, well, for lack of a better word, I guess I will call it a SPINE. You see, this piece of art had been in the family forever. Privately, we all hated it. But no one wanted to tell Great Aunt Tessie. I called it a “her,” but this piece of art was such a hot mess that it was only our best guess. Humanoid? Rabbitoid? Insectoid? Heck, I don’t know. It had been in the back of Jimmy’s little Fiat when he was t-boned by that big Chevy. Big American crushes little Italian – we milked that scenario for far too long. Anyway, because the car got smashed, the sculpture was bent pretty badly. At least Jimmy hadn’t been in the car when it happened. We blamed the valet who allowed that drunken guest who owned the big Chevy to park in the dark. We had to hide all this from Great Aunt Tessie, which was hard given the incident made the society page and was talked about for months.

    Georg’ann

    There’s a comfort in going
    to the STORE. Familiar
    and also new each time.
    Something like SALVE,
    these aisles filled as they are.
    My daughter wrote a college entrance
    essay about our Kroger
    citing similar sentiments.
    More depth here for each
    of us than I have the energy
    to write now for you.

    Its time to SWIPE up
    and clear the day away.
    Do a little SPINE stretching,
    take a hot shower. Off to bed
    where the cat and a new book wait.

    Heather

  • Prayer for the Earth

    In fields of WHEAT, tiny
    Birds flutter and PERCH
    Wondrous beings fill
    Every NICHE, from soil to sky
    Love to our home, sacred
    Space, deserving of our best
    Love our home and
    Love each other

    Georg’ann

    GREAT blue heron stands
    in POISE. Large body held up
    by thin legs that rise
    out of dark water steeped
    with brown and gold leaves
    blown into this quiet NICHE.
    Bright green moss on the shore.
    Three contrasting crescents.
    Wide lake glistens in the distance.

    Heather

  • What is this fabric THING?
    I pull it out: I WRING! I FLING!
    And, at last, BEING no closer
    To the answer than when I started,
    I announce with sweet relief:
    “this is GOING into the rag bag!”

    Georg’ann

    There was that time when
    my cousin touched
    the electric fence.
    Not a bad SHOCK, given
    it was designed to dissuade cows
    not little girls. Always pushing,
    enticed by challenge, danger.

    She climbed to the roof,
    scaled the tv antenna even higher,
    walked across the icy pond.
    It didn’t give way until the edge,
    only fell in thigh deep.
    Grandma thought a BOARD
    on the butt would deter
    future adventures. Though belts
    and switches hadn’t yet crushed
    her spirit, in fact probably
    propelled her reckless impulses.

    Often we ran wild in the woods,
    scampering over fallen trees,
    swinging on grape vines,
    splashing in the creek.
    Making huts in the brambles.
    In recall, there is light through
    tree branches haloing her
    copper hair with shining gold.

    Nestled in the beech leaves
    a mother bear, her TOTEM come
    to protect this wild, restless one.
    Some might dispute my recall
    as FOLLY. But she was there.
    Heidi’s spirit animal. Maternal
    love missing outside these woods.

    Or was it mine? After all she was
    my vision. That has never occurred
    to me, though the desire to guard
    children has been GOING since
    those early days when
    generational rage sent us running
    toward nature or hiding in closets.

    Heather


    Yesterday’s haiku was displayed incorrectly – sometimes the text to text to web formatting goes wonky. Here is how it should read:

    Aging cat now GAUNT,
    finds soft PLACE. Her tattered fur
    coat covers FRAIL bones.

  • Did you hear the FABLE that told of how a FLASH of light in the sky brought a thin sliver of hope to those who saw it? It was a beautiful yet FRAIL thing, more precious for its fleeting nature.

    Georg’ann

    Aging cat now GAUNT,
    finds soft PLACE. Her tattered fur
    coat covers FRAIL bones.

    Heather

  • LOATH to rise, yet eyes spy
    Sunlit TABLE, spreads a warm glow
    My TALLY of joy begins

    Georg’ann

    His back to the audience, alert
    still as a statue until
    this GUIDE for our evening
    raises his hand so precisely,
    sweeping up our anticipation, then
    a SHARP swipe down of the BATON
    brings forth a swell of sound.
    Magic of that wand reaches
    into me, as if the orchestra
    were within, music pressing out.
    Taut heartstrings respond, playing
    vigorously. My body arching,
    swirling legato then quickly
    twitches of pulsing staccato.
    Yet these bodily movements
    almost imperceptible, internal.
    No observer would sense. Outwardly
    only subtle appreciative motion
    noted perhaps by seat mates so staid.
    Without keeping TALLY, note
    by layered note hours pass.
    Adrenaline fueled exhaustion
    as thunderous clapping denotes
    the close. Body comes to stillness
    within the shuffle around me.
    Patrons gather their belongings
    to make rapid departures. Why?

    Heather

  • Nervously, I PLEAT my napkin. Damp from my DRINK, it starts to shred. It’s not the only thing that is damp: I can feel sweat beading on my brow. The stranger next to me shifts away, trying to be subtle, but still, I notice. I almost comment on how it’s warm in this overcrowded room, just to reassure him that I am not sick, you know? Like, I don’t have a VIRUS or anything. But really, all of my attention, the attention of everyone at the table is on the little man with the green VISOR. The bets are being laid, and I am strung tight as cat gut on a fiddle. I try to look cool as I push my chips to the center of the table, saying, “I am all in.”

    Georg’ann

    Listening to post dinner clean up.
    Dishes clanging, water rushing
    into metal, metal striking metal
    as silverware jostle in their bath.

    From the easy chair, I imagine
    her sturdy hands entering
    a billowy cloud of bubbles,
    reaching into the unseen to find

    slender utensils. Remnants
    of dinner released from sharp
    fork tines and knife POINT.
    WIDOW cleans with VIGOR.

    His fishing VISOR still rests
    on the entryway table, as if
    a year hadn’t passed since
    he sat here, from where I write.

    Heather