Thursday, January 21, 2016


my sad heart
like the elephant's storied memory
will never forget.

written: 1/21/16

So very excited to see you post something you've written. (And no cow flop!)

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Free Write

      Digging through the bag of timothy hay, Jery thought to himself this isn't so bad. He had lived with this family for a month, and, at four months old, he was settling into himself. He had a place of his own with a steady supply of hay, pellets, and water. Every other day, he got some fresh fruit and veggies. Bananas were his most favorite. 
      Guinea pigs are not the most placid animals, and Jery could jump and the sound of a hair falling on the floor. The seemingly inaudible sound could have been a resonant toll of a bell for the shock that it caused to Jery's sensitive system. His obituary would read one day He was very brave for such a skittish boy.

written 12/9/15

I haven't been to Three Word Wednesday in a long time, so I thought I would try it out today.  I have also not posted here in way too long. This is a bit of free writing using 3WW. Here are this week's words.

Obituary, noun: a notice of a death, especially in a newspaper, typically including a brief biography of the deceased person.
Placid, adjective: (of a person or animal) not easily upset or excited; (especially of a place or stretch of water) calm and peaceful, with little movement or activity.
Resonant, adjective: (of sound) deep, clear, and continuing to sound or ring; (resonant with) (of a place) filled or resounding with (a sound); having the ability to evoke or suggest enduring images, memories, or emotions; (of a room, a musical instrument, or a hollow body) tending to reinforce or prolong sounds, especially by synchronous vibration; (of a color) enhancing or enriching another color or colors by contrast.

Friday, November 13, 2015

Another Take on How I Met Eli

During the last three weeks of my pregnancy with my son, my blood pressure kept increasing, until my doctor decided to induce my labor. It was Friday the 13th. After a few hours of being on a drip, my labor began. Now, my early labor is not very painful. It makes me feel like Wonder Woman deflecting bullets with each contraction. Then my water breaks. Post water breaking labor is like *cries* with
puking. After throwing up three times in the longest five minutes ever, the anesthesiologist came to give me an epidural. She told me to sit up and be still (which is hard when you are having contractions). I manage to sit up, not puke, and be still. She inserts the needle and it feels like she has just plugged me into a wall socket. Electricity shoots up my body and shudder a little. The anesthesiologist says "you're going to have to be still." I said "you're shocking me." So we try again. I throw up a little, and then I sit still. She pokes me again and connects me once again to the wall outlet. "You really have to stay still when I am doing this," she says to me. "Oh, wait. Oh you poor thing. I was in the wrong spot." There's a small prick in my back and within seconds I can hear Grace Slick in my head "one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small." I can't feel anything except mellow. The anesthesiologist asks me "How do you feel now?" I say "Like Grace Slick is singing just to me." She says "I don't understand what you mean." My nurse, who must have been some sort of child prodigy, because she couldn't have been a day older than 16, says "She feels high." I say "You get me. Do you like Jefferson Airplane?" My prodigy nurse says "I don't know who that is." But she is very distracted by the machines that I am hooked up to and some readouts. This is where things get a little fuzzy. Because then, there's my doctor. I don't remember this, but my husband has since told me that my doctor looks at machine stuff and says "Oh shit … oh shit … Oh Shit!" (my husband did not find that comforting, since it was not in our birth plan.) And so then I am getting prepped for an emergency c-section. Someone hands me a cup and says "Drink this!" and so I do. A few minutes later, the bad thing happens, and I know it's happened because I can smell it, but I don't care because I'm so high and I'm about to have my baby! Then my doctor is there again with an electric razor,and all I can think is "dude, you should have bought me supper first." And then I am on a gurney being whisked to the operating room, and it's all very E.R. And it makes me want to sing. So I start singing "They're trying to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no." The operating room is packed with people. I notice the nurses around me are very concerned with my husband, asking him if he's going to faint, which he doesn't. So I sing a little "Rehab" to him to help him calm down, you know like you do. Sometime during this, I have failed a test to see if I have enough drugs in me to withstand the surgery and they have given me some more drugs. Which makes me intensely nauseated. That is when I realize that the only part of my body that I can move is my head. And I can't move it a lot. I pan. I panic hard. "I'm going to throw up, I going to throw up, I'm going to throw up!" There was some reassurances said and a slight movement to my right, and my mellow is back. I have to sing! "They're trying to make me go to rehab, I said, la la la la la la la la Elmo's World. Yes I've been bad, but when I come back you'll la la la la la la la la Elmo's World." There's an angry pissed off crying past the fabric barrier covering my abdomen and I see my doctor hold up my son. He's long, with huge Fred Flinstone feet, and he is the maddest little newborn ever. I cry. He's beautiful and I love him. The anesthesiologist, who I think may have been the person on my right the whole time asks me "Why are you crying? He's okay." I think this is a beautiful f-ing moment, I'm happy. That's why I'm crying. What I say is "My son. He's so pissed." And that's how I met Eli.

written 4/2014 for Arc Stories (which they eventually decided against.)

Sorry for the unedited block of text, I'm trying to do this in a minute.

Repost: The Night That I Got to Meet Eli

The heartbeat was declining
they wanted to perform an emergency
My sweet guy grows pale
as they give me even more drugs
and Jefferson Airplane starts to play
the theme music for the scene.

We can have you in there and delivered in less than
10 minutes.
And I tell my sweet guy that it's all
going to be

I am quickly wheeled into another room
it's like a scene from a TV show
and still I get more drugs
and, oh shit, I'm going to vomit
It's the only time I have panicked.
And then more meds and all that
nasty nausea goes away
and now it is Amy Winehouse.

"They're trying to make me go to Rehab
and I said
People are talking at me and I still sing
"Yes I been black, but when I get back you'll
la la la-la, la la la-la Elmo's World"

People talk talk talk at me
it makes little sense,
and then an angry cry.
He's a perfect, pissed off 7 lbs 7 oz
with big Fred Flintstone feet
and the anesthesiologist says
"Here he is, and he's just fine...
why are you  crying"

I think
"because this is a beautiful motherfucking moment dumbass-
listen to how pissed he is."
What I say is

Off I go to recovery
to have someone watch me for
an hour

Then, back to my room
and my sweet guy
and my new little fella.

Hi my Heart.

written for 

Why I extra love Friday the 13th. Happy birthday my sweet boy!

Thursday, August 20, 2015


The sad truth
Is that I didn't recognize
What an amazing

Man he was
Until I had grown up
A whole lot

(With so much
More up to still grow)
Now,  as a

Sort-of adult
I can see what he
Accomplished and what

He tried to.
And I am glad that
I got to

Live at the
Same time as such an
Amazing human being.

And I think
Of how we are alike
Both of us

Southern,  both of
Us rather liberal and both
Believe in the

Good that lives
In the heart and soul
Of weak humanity.

We also have
Melanoma in common,  mine cut
And, poof, gone.

His setting up
Residence like it likes to
Do,  destroying its

Home,  oblivious to
The tragic consequence that is
Utter self-destruction

Much like humanity
Itself.  I think of sweet
Woman,  Susan,  who

Helped me during
Graduate school and who also
Shared this Melanoma

And I remember
How beautiful her funeral service
Was and how

I felt my
Son kick inside me as
Her daughter said

Goodbye to her
Mother.  And I feel grateful
And lucky to

Be here now.
To think of my kind
Cousin who found

Melanoma last year.
I hope that his battle's
Cut and gone

And I hope
That my humanitarian role model
Gets the peace

And strength I
Send to him in thoughts
Or prayers or

Whatever it is
That I am sending him.
As I keep

Trying to grow.

written: 8/20/15

Giving it to the universe that President Carter will be all right.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Eli's Worry

Eli worries that
Slappy from Goosebumps
Will sneak into

Our house late
At night while we're sleeping
The naughty dummy

And then steal
Every last bit of our
Delicious peanut butter!

See how happy
Slappy is as he nears
The helpless jar

And see how
Sad Eli is that the
Delicious peanut butter

Is being stolen
Right from our own safe
And cozy kitchen.

I reassure him
That I will lock the
Doors up tight

And I will defend
Our delicious peanut butter,  as
I am currently

Undefeated in battle
With ventriloquist's evil thieving dummies
I'm not scared.

And as my
Small son sleeps soundly tonight
Safe in dreams

I wonder why,
Why the fuck did I
Let him watch


written: 8/18/15

One of these days I'll learn.  No ... no I won't. But I am going to try to get him to write his version of the story on his page on the blog.

Saturday, August 8, 2015


I'm already tired
And afraid for my daughter's

What happens
when she reaches
the age
She is no longer
An innocent child,
But a slut,
A tease who
Is probably asking for it,
Even if she hasn't developed enough
To know what it is.

What happens
When she is no longer
A life worth saving
But someone who
Should have known better.

When her value
As an incubator
Is more than her
Value as a person?

At what point will
She fall out of the

Will it be
For being a sexual being?

Will it be
Because someone stronger
Made her his object?

Will it be
Because her life isn't
As important as a fetus?

Or will it be
More like the moment
Kimberly McCarthy's life
Ceased to matter.

That moment
After Wendy Davis's
Eternal filibuster,
After good Texan men
Preached the Sanctity of Life,
They gave Ms. McCarthy
Her final honor.
The phrase that will forever
Follow her name,
The 500th person executed
By Texas since

Because #AllLivesMatter, right?

Her life matters
As an example
Of how
It didn't.


I sure hope I get through this next presidential election without my head exploding.

Monday, August 3, 2015


Lately,  writing isn't
As much fun as it
Used to be.

written:  8/3/15

Wednesday, July 22, 2015


One piece
Missing and my
Work falls apart while I
Nurse the gaping hole that was left

written: 7 / 22 / 15

Feeling writey, and a little sad,  and working up to write some pissed off pieces.