The last ring my husband made for me still fits. We lived in our car then.Outside the world,molded to core and bone. The ring sits differently now,slides only halfway downa finger so paddedit sometimes forgets what it’s made of. The ring never forgetswhere it came from. It fits now, a widow’s ring,always at half mast. Continue reading salute
I don’t know what I want to say here, only that I hurried to get my laptop because the feelings were starting to feel like friction. This year has dragged me over the carpets, and sometimes it is fine, and sometimes I am a bumble of lightning. I’m afraid to shock someone, afraid to sting them even just a little. . . . I’ve been … Continue reading journal 8.14
Last night I scraped the back of a foot against city pavement. I didn’t fall exactly, I just … drifted. Gracelessly. It didn’t stop the night. When I woke up today, muddled by morning, my scraped skin sang to me from a tower of bandage and pillow. Operatic wails, reminding me that the song of healing requires an admission fee of patience. I am always … Continue reading journal 8.7
I was a young teenager when a traveler told me that the flat mole above my belly button meant I would be a young widow. Back then, I didn’t imagine I would ever marry. Mamasaur calls moles like that beautymarks. Sometimes, on the days that grief chases me, I cover it with make up even though I would never wear anything where it would show. … Continue reading beauty marked
Every day, the citrus-light of morning squeezes itself through my window, pulp and all. When life gives you lemons, when life floods you with peelings and mournings, you learn to stockpile sweetness– or you learn to web your fingertips enough to hold on. Along the windows in my kitchen, I let a small flock of beloved tiny things sugar the frontlines. A miniature angel. A … Continue reading timed-write: lemon morn
I like to tell my heart to people. I like to tell people it is a towering, limping beast, fighting to get to you. Yes, you, whoever you are. My heart used to leave cavernous footprints and now it is a ghost of giant, but still a giant by all measures. Inside the feral thing is a busy city under a desert sun. The ground … Continue reading autistic, like heart
Lately, my heart cries its way down my left arm, tears full of nickel and nettle. A quick ride on a search engine tells me the right words are “sudden numbness”, but I know a dripping-sad when I am one. Lately, my yawns stop short of finishing and I bite at the air like a baby dinosaur, a baby that’s been hungry too long and … Continue reading journal 7.4
On the ledge of my kitchen, my marigolds die from the heat. (Crumpled bouquets of papered-orange splintering from the weight of too-long days.) This will likely shatter my bones, too. (Please save all the pieces. Give them away. May the sharp of me be used to pick the locks, and free the people.) I am tired when I wash the outcry of marigolds down the … Continue reading i will need you soon
rarasaur 