POET | PLAYWRIGHT | TEACHING ARTIST
Leonard is stretched out on the floor next to me. And barking at the neighbor’s voices squeezing in through the windowsill. His concern is unconvincing. I suppose it’s nice that he feels a sense of duty. He hasn’t moved in a half an hour. I expect this morning’s exceptional walk along the trail was too…
Heading toward a quarter moon. The light is slipping away. I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed the moon as often as I have these past weeks. I suppose in part because we run under the cover of trees so often on the dark mornings. And I suppose because conversation is distracting. Leaving my phone in…
When I left I packed everything that was mine into cardboard boxes and lined them up in the hallway. I was waiting for him to say, Wait-a-minute. Let’s not do this.
And not a poem. I’m jumping off here. I’m not on a journey to improve myself every day. I’m not aiming for the unattainable ever-better, of self-development’s neat infinity. I’m a warped impressionist mess doing the best I can each dayin each moment I manage to catch myselflaughing: me as an infant innocently tasting the…
Suffering is not enough. Life is both dreadful and wonderful…How can I smile when I am filled with so much sorrow? It is natural–you need to smile to your sorrow because you are more than your sorrow. THICH NHAT HANH If that is not the perfect definition of real “self-care”, what is? So many years…