Trying to play it SMART, I look for a good PLACE in the class. It’s only the second week of cooking school, and I feel cautiously optimistic about how the first week went. But my mind goes BLANK as a different instructor walks in. Have I made a mistake? Did I walk into the wrong room? I do not recognize this person at all. I glance about nervously. No help from the other students. The instructor looks very intimidating. His chef’s toque sits smartly on his head, and his apron is starched and blindingly white. He begins, his voice soft and accented. I strain to make out what he is saying. We are all bewildered. Then our bewilderment turns tense, as we begin to grasp what he is saying. “We will be developing a series of dishes involving what is commonly known as offal, or organ meats,” he whispers to the class. He claps his hands sharply, twice. We all jump, startled by the loud noise. Assistants step into the room from the doors to the supply area. They are carrying tray after tray of something. The assistants distribute the trays. I can barely bear to see what I have been given. It’s a platter of sweetbreads – the pancreas or thymus GLAND of a calf or lamb. It so happens that I have eaten this delicacy, but I have most certainly never prepared it. I feel both relieved (thank goodness we aren’t starting with kidneys) and intimidated. I hear the person behind me say in hushed tones, “Oh, I heard this set of recipes is how they weed people out, testing us to see who is cut out to be a chef.” I swallow hard as I wait for instructions.

Georg’ann

So much hair in the DRAIN.
It comes out in handfuls now.

Desire spice, relegated to BLAND.
Each GLAND felt for swelling.

Changes noted with curiosity.
Disintegration and renewal.

Heather

May my MOTOR run on playful energy, like a river OTTER, sleek and carefree.

Georg’ann

Gathering at this HOUSE
redraws lines. Family enemies
come out of their trenches,
ENJOY fresh open space.
New hosting reduces tension.
Occasional aggressive barbs
make a CAMEO without taking
center stage. Spotlight goes
to the children. This one hugging
a plush OTTER, those three up
to innocent antics. Boisterous
beings draw out our best selves.

Heather

TWICE over, I was lucky. Once, as I did manage to CREEP along the edge of the swollen stream without falling in and collect handfuls of CRESS. And then again, I manage to slip back inside, avoiding the boards that CREAK. I was in and out of the cabin before anyone was the wiser. I put the tender, bitter greens away and poured my first cup of coffee. I felt quite pleased with my little triumph, as surely as a cat that has discovered a bit of CREAM in its saucer.
Georg’ann

Neighbors and friends gather
in this artsy barn for MOVIE night. 
Buttery popcorn in little bags. 
Man plays a piano prelude
under an AMBER light. 
My aunt, the grand dame, 
sits in a puffy CREAM 
pleather chair that swivels. 
The rest of us on folding chairs. 
Her laugh mixes with rustling
of paper, crinkle of cellophane, 
twisting lid of a metal thermos. 
Under the propane heater, 
it’s that throaty sound that warms. 

Heather

AWARE of Mama making her famous yellow cake with FUDGE icing, I could hardly keep my attention on my homework. Why do I have to write an essay on the THEME of civic duty right now? The smell from the kitchen is too tantalizing! I rummage around my school bag – maybe there is a stick of CLOVE chewing gum. Or something else that will take my mind off fluffy yellow layers with rich fudgy icing… mmmmmmm. I sigh, thinking of how the icing hardens slightly along the rim of the plate. My favorite thing is to run my finger along that space, believing that no one will notice. Aargh. How will I ever wait to get a piece?!

Georg’ann

Warm winter night

Played without keeping SCORE,
drank CLOVE scented cider.

Heather

Scattered ABOUT the snowy yard, life
in search of life abounds:
dark-eyed juncos scratch to find
a HOARD of seeds, while starlings
twine around a bare branch,
and finches flutter, jockeying for position.
Hawk lands, birds scatter –
feathers ROACH up, signaling alarm,
leaving the hawk alone in a
now empty yard.

Georg’ann

To Santa Cruz

Heading to the land
of origination.
PASTE scenes of little self
to AVAIL her with information.
Help make sense. Windows.
Through a CRACK, Glen Canyon.
Towhead preschooler is fed
a ROACH, pungent smoke
dissipates. Dark, dank here
at the base. Redwoods go up, up
Straight, sturdy. Ancient.
Tufts of graceful green found light.

Heather

Okay, I have tried to CHIDE and chivvy myself into creativity. But alas, that only makes me DROOP and fumble. SADLY, I give up. I did want so BADLY to perform a verbal sleight of hand that would make these words hang together. Alas, it was not meant to be, not a single draft did I love MADLY.

Georg’ann

Like a FLOCK of seagulls,
pecking and squawking,
ever moving passengers
prepare to board, take flight.
All of us so ready to LEAVE.
Small children, burdened
with large backpacks,
each a colorful SNAIL.
Captivated by the outfits,
wide ranging feathers
demonstrate affinities, religion,
origins, social class. And weather!
Hermetically sealed in one climate
yet transversing the spectrum.
Here it’s frigid, there it’s BALMY.
Finally the single line chaos
of finding one’s place
after searching MADLY
for an overhead compartment.
Wings tucked carefully between
the armrests, we’re squeezed
in formation, headed for the sky.

Heather

PINCH the fabric just so
INSET a contrasting piece
Whip stitch it all into place
And voilà! Patched jeans
worthy of an INDIE film star

Georg’ann

I’ll VOUCH that these words
don’t inspire. I STARE and stare
at this rather BEIGE assortment.
In better times, on a better day
these words and I might work
together, enjoying the challenge.
Wandering a path toward
an unknown place, or releasing
a memory that’s been in EXILE,
crafting in my INDIE style.
For tonight, other plans preside.

Heather

I want to REBEL
climb outta my shell
despite feeling FRAIL
point me to the TRAIL
we gotta prevail

Georg’ann

At Leonard Springs

Walking, deep in thought.
Loud CRASH in bushes.
Buck emerges, leaps across TRAIL.
Eyes wide, man falls back.

Heather

I awake to a travel advisory –
a SNOWY morning, I see
as I STARE out. The chill air
hits my body, as out of
bed I jump, knowing that
it is Sunday, pancake day!
Birds cluster at snow-capped
feeders while I SHAVE little
bits of apple into a bowl.
No SLAVE to routine, just
variations on a theme.
Every Sunday, a different kind:
blueberry, banana, pear –
whatever is to hand –
buttermilk, buckwheat,
whole wheat, cornmeal.
In winter, spring, summer, or fall,
every week without fail –
all is permitted, and all are
presented with a SUAVE
and flirtatious flourish:
for you, my love!
Every Sunday, a Valentine.

Georg’ann

Snow once again lends her GRACE
changing the SHAPE of my view.
What was STALE, transformed.
Will I engage this white canvas?
Gleefully make angels,
SNAKE a stick through the fluff
patterning and repatterning.
Sculpt a person, give them life
with a SUAVE scarf. Then
come in for cocoa or stay inside
shushing the child within.

Heather

“I wish you wouldn’t WORRY, my dear.” I met this kind statement with a GROAN. Tonight’s production threatened to rehash an old TROPE of good versus evil. I suppose I shouldn’t be so CROSS about the whole thing, but this was a very important event in our Belinda’s life. I didn’t want it ruined by some schlocky CROCK of moldy old boring things. Belinda was destined for greatness. And I, her mother, was determined that nothing would get in her way. Even if I had to take a shepherd’s CROOK to whoever threatened to steal the limelight from her first starring role. A hush fell over the crowd. The curtain rose, and a nice lady in a flowered dress began: “Welcome to the Sunnyside Elementary School annual play. Tonight, we have the first and second graders performing Little Red Riding Hood.” I held my breath – let the show begin!

Georg’ann

Not the simple Haiku book

Beautifully BOUND volume,
even a navy blue ribbon
to tie it closed. Thus
each opening again a gift.
Hands caress lush silk cover
in burnt oranges and deep blues.
Every page double paper.
Highlights the life work of Hokusai.
Tonight symbolizes the SCOPE
of our relationship. How earnestly,
elaborately your heart strives
to meet mine, where she wants.
CLOCK this bittersweet pattern.
Your arrows have a CROOK,
always missing the intended target.
Yet their faulty trajectory piercing
love lesson bullseyes so deftly.

Heather

True Story

As a TREAT for you,
How I want to be WITTY
Perhaps come up with a DITTY

But then I got online, got
So depressed I gave up.

I sat with the grief.
I sat with the anger.
And then I stood up,
Took the hand that was
Offered, and moved forward.

Georg’ann

MARCH is just around the corner,
bringing to mind iconic literature.
Frog and Toad All Year.
in which Frog tries to cheer
his friend, Toad, by telling a story
of trying to find the corner
that spring is just around.
Searching until at last he finds it.

We love to QUOTE the WITTY
wisdoms of these dear friends,
whose outlooks so often opposed.
Singing a DITTY or two
from the musical version
always makes my feet lift
in a jazzy Charleston,
long legged frog that I am.

Heather

WOULD that it was not just a dream, this scene of a QUIET, SUNNY day. It seemed to AUGUR a better future, and i don’t wish to lose this image of women from all over the world — dressed in everything from a BURKA to a sari to an evening gown to a house dress to jeans. All as one, dancing to a RUMBA beat, a multicultural festival of joy.

Georg’ann

RIGHT now is the time to ROUSE.
Open your heart wide.
Send love everywhere.
To urban jungles and RURAL towns.
Neighbors, strangers, friends and foes.
Within you the steady RUMBA beat,
inviting all to dance.

Heather

FLIRT with me, the toss
Of her BRAID seemed to say
RAPID moving, fast falling
In love, baby

Georg’ann

MOUTH opened, words tumbled
LAPSE of judgement illuminated.
Strings of VAPID thought, or
more accurately lack of thought,
like noxious vapor emanating.
So RAPID the poisoning.

Heather

It was a mostly LOCAL CROWD, making it easy for her to SCOUR for her enemies. She was pissed and ready to settle the SCORE.

Georg’ann

His meditations on DEATH
begin to settle the SCORE.
Leaving in peace when time to go.

Heather

THERE, I thought as I laid the blanket out on a wide PLANK. I was making progress and felt pretty good about it. Pleased with myself, in fact, as a large project is nothing to SCOFF at, after all. I like how the yarn feels, how the repetitive motions of crocheting soothe my nervous system. Crocheting or sewing both put me in mind of the history of such activities, things that were once done out of necessity rather than as a hobby. I like thinking of the lineage of women in my family, from my sisters and their embroidery, to my mother’s sewing and quilting, back to my Italian grandmother’s crocheting and tatting. I can feel a cultural link back even further, to a time when the woman of the house was called GOODY as an honorific, shadows of the past hovering behind me as I gather the half finished blanket back up and settle down for another pleasant hour of restful, productive activity.

Georg’ann

Running that FIRST time,
barely got around the BLOCK.
AGONY, leaden legs became GOOEY,
everything about me GOOPY.
Collapsed in a chair, panting.
Skin dried, breath slowed.
Ready for a GOODY,
ate half a pint of ice cream
right out of the container.
One delicious spoonful after another.

Heather

I held the SPARK today as long as I could. And BLESS us, it was a pretty long time. But by the end of the day, I was having significant BOUTS of fatigue. Too many blustering, frightened, and sometimes BOGUS arguments about what is wrong with the world – I finally had to give up. I do appreciate the unexpected BONUS, though, of watching you get some clarity through a final burst of anger. Well done, dear! Can we call it a day now?

Georg’ann

At the party

So many people
came to celebrate her.
Barely SPACE to maneuver.
Social skills RUSTY. Hinges creak.
FLUSH surges in this heat,
awkwardness of chitchat.
Wanting water, hours pass.
Finally directed to the porch,
a cooler with glistening bottles.
BONUS, in cold air darkness
moment alone to quench, to quell.

Heather

You – a PLAIN scone with
A SPECK of cream;
Me – a slice of toast with
A big pat of butter.
Our tea bags STEEP,
The milk and honey await.

Georg’ann

At the sturdy blue table,
eyes scan to locate thought,
then she tells me how DOUBT
made her a better mother.
Certainty a binding STRAP.
Once it broke, she and her kids
scrambled up STEEP hills
as naturally as mountain goats.

Heather

Bits of salt remain on the steps like so much strange FROST. I try to get them off, but they are stubborn and STICK to the concrete, reminders of the last snowstorm. I SWEPT once, then again, finally settling for shifting aside a wide SWATH of dead leaves and Christmas tree debris.

Georg’ann

Saturated with stories, input.
Cognition frozen, spinning
the rainbow wheel of cannot
compute. In this bright room

I feel more aligned with a dark
musty CABIN, weathered.
Imagination won’t SPARK,
Clogged thoughts are STALE.

Before me a long SWATH
of open hours. There are tasks
yet no set timelines.
The day is mine to empty.

Heather

Dammit, 2025

the WORLD is a blur,
a slow waking, when
I LEAST feel able to BLINK
away the FILMY
goo of sleep, one eye
open to allow one PUPIL
to adjust, barely able to
face the day

Georg’ann

Please take EXTRA.
More here than we can use.
Can’t stand to let it SPOIL.
As a PUPIL, I took to heart
my teacher’s teaching:
“Waste not, want not.”

Heather

I don’t often think about the PLACE where I grew up. But I can easily conjure up the experience of standing in the driveway. It was the spot where I learned to orient to the cardinal directions. This is such a strong memory that I return to it as needed, remembering the PEARL-like tints of the sunrise to my right and the rich reds and purples of the sunset to my left. From the same spot, I could admire the carpet created by the crab-apple tree, its threatening thorny branches belied by each soft pink PETAL. The same spot also served as a gateway to joy, as I would PEDAL my bike up and down our dirt road. Pure exhilaration with the wind whipping my hair as I zoomed down one side, using momentum to get me halfway up the other side. If I close my eyes right now, I can almost feel the sandy gravel under my bare feet, full of possibility and wonder.

Georg’ann

How ALIKE we are becomes CLEAR
you write to me of the starlit dusk
as I send you a picture
of the same sky
Reentering our shared orbit
with gestures as soft
as a velvety rose PETAL
in hues of apricot, coral, and pink
Once again riding a bicycle
built for two, each foot
steady on its PEDAL
moving together in one direction

Heather

The CLASH between the style of the belt and the cut of the pants was just too much to handle. “It emphasizes my GIRTH – and I cannot even believe that that sentence came out of my MOUTH!” This was truly an exclamation for the ages. Even as it felt useless, her companion tried to soothe her. “It could be worse, you know, you could still have that broken TOOTH.” This only earned a withering look and a quivering lip – truly hard to achieve, unless, of course, you are 14 and desperate to impress the cutie in the next BOOTH.

Georg’ann

“We’ll go to the restroom. Then you’ll just GRASP this string and give it a QUICK yank with your WHOLE force. That TOOTH will come right out. If you want I can do the yanking. Or you can keep wiggling it as long as you want. Your choice, Sweetie.”

Ry kept her seat in the BOOTH for a moment longer, then got up and hesitantly followed her aunt to the bathroom, not quite sure she was brave enough to go through with the string maneuver, no matter who was pulling it.

Heather

MONEY didn’t enter into it. At LEAST, that’s what she said about her new romance with a less than blueblooded beau. And now, Lucy Shea was lying in the morgue. PI Jones would admit that money did have something to do with why he agreed to take this case. So when Shea’s wealthy grandfather was impatient with the police, and wanted his granddaughter’s lowlife boyfriend followed, Jones said yes. Now, here he sat, in his car, freezing, following the boyfriend. He had an EERIE feeling that all was not what it seemed with this case. Oh great, he thought, as he saw said sleazy boyfriend leave the liquor store and walk across the street into the local nudie REVUE. Why didn’t I become an accountant like my mom wanted, Jones thought for the hundredth time that day. Sighing, he shrugged off his tweed jacket, grabbed the leather one and a hat from the back seat, thinking here we go.

Georg’ann

Trying to REACH you
please REPLY.
An invitation to go RETRO,
REUSE our gogo boots,
boogie at the Soul REVUE.

Heather

A Wordle Writes reflection

I find these days that current events EVOKE such strong feelings that I am frequently exhausted. Today is no exception. So as I sit to write, I struggle to be clever, to find a bon mot, a TROPE that will impress. I SWORE to get to writing earlier, to not put it off until evening. I like the version of me that solves the puzzle and writes before noon. But alas, that was not to be the case today. Yet, i couldn’t let it go. For you see, even after all this time, I still ADORE this writing practice. It is joy, not at all a CHORE.

Georg’ann

She liked TEPID tea in big mugs.
No LOVER of hot sips or saucers.
Hands wrapped around warmth,
thoughts gathering, then set down.
The cup, not the thoughts.
Bringing it back to her lips
finding it had gone cold.
SCORE another one for time lost.
Back to the kitchen, rewarming
not too great a CHORE. Though
it’s easy to be forgotten
in a microwave. Found cold again.

Heather

We stand like Alice ABOVE
The rabbit hole, no time to
Think or to count to ten (or even
SEVEN), ready to be a brave DIVER
Into the unknown, RIVET all attention
On the retreating White Rabbit, as we
Jump:
Down
We
Go

Georg’ann

Steadily the rain fell,
giving a decent SCOUR
to the grunge of January.
Day one of February bright,
weather gives us a BREAK.
News does not. Today tariffs.
Marking shifts in anyway we can,
our REPLY to this, attempt humor.
Saying goodbye to produce,
we use a Mexican avocado
to make Tariff Toast, served
with Cafè Bustelo instant espresso.
As you say, each day a firehose
of despairing actions.
Surely he will RIVET us to disaster.
Still birds come to the feeder.
One of an infinity of pleasures.

Heather

Good Morning!

I am so CLEAR
When the sun is near
My tummy rumbles
I out of bed tumble
Coffee is what I am ABOUT
A whisper can feel like a shout
Until a piece of buttery TOAST
Past my lips does coast

Georg’ann

Curious hands TOUCH my body.
They are my own. Wandering
slowly, becoming acquainted.
Reverence in my finger tips,
full palmed care. No TOKEN
meeting here. This. This is
sorrow joy melding. Tenderness
of a new mother marveling
as she greets her newborn,
familiar, yet so unknown.
Touch and be touched,
butter melting into warm TOAST.

Heather

The strap of her PURSE
Long like a NOOSE
Her tenuous hold on life
Like a LEASE about to expire
Gotten under FALSE pretense

Georg’ann

Ignore the NOISE, press
PAUSE. Exploring scent, texture
of FALSE cypress, be.

Heather

Ms. Devon sighed. It was hard enough teaching high school Biology without what amounted to a PARTY in the back of the classroom. For now, when the class was taking a break, it was a MINOR inconvenience. But the break would end, and so, too, would the ruckus. She stopped and observed them. She had to admit that the SHEER audacity of this band of students was amusing. Just then, the friends started getting louder, language became a bit BLUER, and definitely RUDER. This lesson on mammals could become an “UDDER” disaster!

Georg’ann

I came forward to SHARE,
seeking solace. Your REPLY
so QUEER, pushed me back
UNDER. Collapsing deeper
into this hole. Packed now in
heavy, dark dirt. A bulb waiting
for the earth to warm.
When lambs suckle at the UDDER,
peace seems possible, then
my shoots will emerge again
bearing beauteous apricot blooms.

Heather

Just for a LAUGH, let’s go on a joyful, playful SPREE — a lark, a gambol, a frolic. We’ll have such a time, and to it, we will forever REFER as the time we danced ourselves into a FEVER, like two little sillies who, for just a moment, wanted to forget how sad, angry, and painful the world is sometimes.

Georg’ann

Ready to CLOSE this day,
GREAT efforts expended
cleaning projectile tomato soup
out of grey office carpet.
Hit the walls, chairs, a door,
underside of the table, pictures.
Two rooms sprayed evoking
a gruesome crime scene.
It wasn’t my mess, yet I was called
to aid in making it disappear.
Being the FINER fixer, capable
of steadfast dedication to tasks
without grumble or collapse.
You came in with a low FEVER.
Now my back aches, eyes burn.
We’ll both sleep soundly tonight.

Heather

The HOUSE up on the hill seemed to SHUNT all the bad vibes away. The neighbors constantly marveled at the family’s good fortune. At least, that was the case until Aunt Agnes came to town. With her tight gray curls, gray floral dress, gray cardigan, and battered brown suitcase, she moved in and changed everything.

Georg’ann

The children have GROWN,
as happens. And yet part of me
NAIVE, barely able to comprehend
their capabilities. How long ago
I prepared their LUNCH, tucked in
a note, later tucked them into bed
with stories. Strokes and kisses
across foreheads, curls of hair.
Laughing together at movies
with HUNKY STUNT men,
latex suited vixens or doe eyed
Ingenues. Now wait for word.
Adulthood a SHUNT, diverting
bloodline flow in new directions.

Heather

Woke up today, feeling relieved that my headache from yesterday was probably gone. My migraine episode can feel like a FROWN, hovering somewhere above my body. The migraines can even TINGE the way everything looks, like I am looking through a filter on a camera lens. Unfortunately, being a “migraineur” can make me dread a SUNNY day, as direct bright light can bring on the headache part of the migraine episode. The brain is such a fascinating organ, and I wish mine were a little less interesting.

Georg’ann

These words evoke commercials
for laundry or feminine hygiene products.
FRESH scents, only a SCANT
amount to infuse or cover odor.
Sheets or women SWING.
Cotton fabrics, long tresses
sway in soft breezes.
SOUND of birds chirping.
Maybe children laughing.
Definitely skies always SUNNY.
Meanwhile I lay here kinda stinky.
Everything overdue for washing.

Heather

With my apron on, like a good BAKER, I wrestle the ROUGH dough with deft movements of my WRIST. Morning light is filtered through the PRISM in the window. I admire the colors on display, like jewels scattered across the wall. Eager for the next step, when I will pull the bread from the hot oven, set it out on the wire rack to cool. That is a moment I love: when I can hear the crackle of a CRISP crust as it cools.

Georg’ann

Interactions characterized by GRACE.
Textured and bittersweet. Nourishing
like the apple cranberry CRISP
we also share, drizzled with cream.

Heather

Foggy BRAIN, heavy limbs
Feels too CRUEL to wake
Dreams call me back
Heavy lids close
Magic of sleep
And I am back
Eating a CREPE and
Sashaying along the Left Bank

Georg’ann

Dress of her dreams,
sadly beyond her means:

As WATER it pooled
luxury worth any PRICE
azure CREPE de Chine

Heather

The large GROUP refused to SPURN the smaller one, for even if it gave the many the UPPER hand, it was unnecessary and cruel.

Georg’ann

WATER flows beneath.
SUPER thrills from UPPER ledge.
Stick race in motion.

Heather

FORGE a heart so strong
REACT not to the provocations
The REACH of love is long

Georg’ann

Warm WATER cascades
down my body, within
a glass capsule, out of REACH

Heather

The day had been a bit of a TRIAL. That statement, unfortunately, could be said about far too many of her days. As she pulled a KNIFE out of the drawer, she wondered how she was GOING to keep up a façade of normal. Or maybe she could SWING in the opposite direction and stop pretending. Would that be a disaster? She gently touched the top of the cake. Cool enough, she decided. These next months were going to require some thought. Well, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, she thought wryly. And then, she almost laughed out loud. Quoting the gospel of Matthew was probably not a good sign. Or at least an odd sign. As she went through the motions of continuing her baking project (gathering ingredients, pulling out a bowl), a whole series of images in her head were CUING up. The confectioner’s sugar formed little clouds of white dust as she measured it out and began blending it into the butter. But her mind remained elsewhere. She imagined friends with puzzled faces, heads turning as she quoted whole passages from one religious text after another. She would definitely be signaling stress. Shaking her head, she began the delightful process of ICING the cake. A soothing, familiar activity that released all worry and settled her gently and firmly into the present moment.

Georg’ann

Pudgy little hands exert FORCE
squeezing the silver CLAMP.
Walnut breaks open, sharp pieces
scatter across the table.

Long fingered, bony hands press
lemons, rolling them back and forth
against the black countertop
to get them really JUICY.

These hands take turns beating
sugar into softened butter
whipping up ICING. Together
creating a layer cake so sweetly.

Heather

Let’s PAUSE the film – I feel like we are STUCK in a moment, and I think we should take advantage of it. This movie is about to take a dark turn. I am betting, given the change in the SOUND of the music, that we are about to encounter the titular giant SQUID. I want to get more popcorn before we get to that part. Well, and also I would like to discuss which character we think is going to die first. What do you think? Am I right?

Georg’ann

Visiting my artist friend.

We met at your home,
conversed the day away.
A PAUSE of everything,
nothing else but us.
I brought you imported pasta.
Knew you’d appreciate its artistry.
Each bow tie striped
in rich shades of green, ochre,
magenta and black. Precise lines.
Together pondering the extraction
of SQUID ink. Then wandered
far and wide in the world of form.
Reverberating off one another,
reveling in all that is creation.

Heather