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Monthly Archives: August 2017

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Well, there she is again.

No apology.

Just glory and light.

Letting go of the night she


Wakes up to her life.

Wakes up to beauty

raw pain














That tension between darkness and light,

It’s what keeps us poised.

In the deepest depths of the darkness there a promise.




“A wise woman wishes to be no one’s enemy; a wise woman refuses to be anyone’s victim.” -Maya Angelou

This day is the day. The day the monster faces a judge. But, what if he didn’t act alone? What if many men raped her? What if there were locations? What if she suffered?

She’s gone now.


And she doesn’t want to be remembered by the worst day(s) in her life.

She’s gone now.




One with the sky.

Still laughing in my head.

Still saying DeeeeaaaeeeB in a way no one else ever has or ever will.

What is justice?

Unless it’s resurrection it’s nothing.


I hope that lady with the blindfold and the scales makes an appearance.

I hope so.

So, maybe I can finally meet her. Because I’ve never known her in my life.

My friend is free.

HE (they?) will NEVER touch her again.

She is free.



I turn my heart into a couch

Like the set of I Dream of  Jeanie

And I fluff the pillows and invite her energy in for a curl up and a good cry. I will hold her anytime she needs me now. I will hold her in my heart. These things did not happen to me, they happened to her. The rape, the strangulation, all that happened to her. And she is still my friend.

I hold her in my heart.


Anytime she needs a good sob because she didn’t know she was leaving. She didn’t mean to leave. She would have said goodbye otherwise.




Just a Jeanie couch in my heart whenever she drops from the sky

I’m right here

Right here

I got you!


“What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her? What would he do. Had the the motive and the cue for passion that I have? He would drown the stage with tears…” – William Shakespeare

She wept in words for days and years to the chorus of cries saying, “That’s enough.” “Why do you do this to yourself. Get over it.”

Her family, the ones left living spoke no words at all. She could only see their backs as they cheered on the next ignorant fashion trend and pretended to be all of the things they absolutely were not. Five dollar versions of million dollar souls, they mocked, chided, dropped blades into her back…denying any of it was ever or had ever happened.

No, for Hecuba, she was the problem. Her grief was the issue. Not the impetus the reaction. For all of her loss Hecuba’s greatest tragedy in life was this fixation on reaction by the people around her. It denied truth. It removed the truth and replaced it with a plastic version of candy coated drugged out highs. Because they couldn’t feel. They wouldn’t feel.

Hecuba? She couldn’t stop feeling. She wouldn’t. Because the love was so great. It was so great that it dwarfed the pain. But, they couldn’t see that. They could only see her tears. She bled words so much that her blood became them and she was freed in the letting.

Still, they could only see her grief. And the losses were real. And she would never deny the losses. They were merely the final page in a lifetime of love. She loved fiercely. And wildly. And without restraint. And this is why the losses devastated her. She loved loving.

And, even still.

She loved.


“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.” -Herman Melville, Moby Dick

When I think of my Grandparents, I think of their laughter. Each one different. Each one resonated from a different place in a time. A different understanding of life.

Sometimes I feel them holding me. I feel the slow rock of comfort and the love circling me like some kind of sacred spiritual arms lifting me up out of the darkness.

It always comes back around to their laughter.

If they were here now.

And maybe they still are.

If they knew.

And maybe they do.

They would hold me.

Rock me.

And we would end up laughing together.

I just know it.


Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky,
By midnight angels woven and spun;
Better than day its prophecy,--
The morning comes before the sun.- Sarah Chauncey Woolsey

Moving with a peace that never seemed possible

They rise before the sun and work through the great rise

Never eclipsed



“It is funny about money. And it is funny about identity. You are you because your little dog knows you, but when your public knows you and does not want to pay for you and when your public knows you and does want to pay for you, you are not the same you.”-Gertrude Stein

That gurl.

She’s 17 years old now and confused in ways she never was before. Her brain doesn’t wake up as fast as it used to and her legs are arthritic and sometimes that makes it difficult for her to stand up.

I’m afraid to leave her alone for too long. Afraid she will get stuck. It’s my job to unstick her. She trusts me. She looks to me and I want to be her constant calm. And sometimes that nearly impossible.

Her Dad gets up with her in the middle of the night to tend to her bladder because now when she has to go she has to go. When she was younger she had unbelieveable control over everything. Unbelieveable agility.

But now? Now. I love her more than I have ever loved her before because she reminds me of the walking miracle. That it exists. And, when I wake up with a startle wondering if she’s still with us I feel Tricia saying, “20”.

I think it might be impossible to have a 20 year old dog but if she can stick around that long then I can be by her side. Because she’s been by mine and I will move mountains to tend to that gurl.

When she has a really good meal, she still has to dance and undo her bed. But then, she can’t rest until it’s neat and tidy again. That’s just a part of her personality.

Her tastes are varied and she doesn’t like to eat the same food everyday. She prefers things spicy. And she loves sushi. As much as I can I take her to the Starbuck’s drive through for a birthday cake pop. She usually eats the whole thing on the way to the lake.

She loves the fountain at the lake. She loves to stand on the concrete platform in the center and cool off with splashes of water surrounding her. Being outside makes her happy and then may need to sleep it off for a couple of days.

She likes people watching and dog watching.

She’s an absolute joy. No trouble at all. My best gurl. An absolute joy.


“Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length.” -Robert Frost

When white light breaks down into prismatic displays of emotion.


There’s really not much to say about that.

Not if you are really seeing it.

It doesn’t stay long.


Let it fill up every dark void.

A love-letting.


“Hoof and horn hoof and horn whatever dies shall be reborn. Corn and grain corn and grain all that falls shall rise again.” Blessing of Lughnasa

Trapped between the girl who was supposed to stick to the script and the woman who has a whole lot to say sometimes the only thing left to do is watch the sunset.


The beauty of everything sinks into my skin and now that I’m older even the air touching me feels like an invitation to live. A soft caress and a gentle hope that promises something as beautiful and prismatic as this view.


Within these societal expectations I’m not trapped just strangely framed and unlike my foremothers I can move and speak. I can see.