So, Which Is It?

Originally posted on It's Fine.:
I’m scared to post this. I’m afraid of alienating people I love, people I interact with on a daily basis, people whose friendships I value. I wouldn’t say this if it hadn’t been weighing heavy, like a 50 pound weight on my tongue every time I open my mouth…

The Rest of September

Rice Krispie air?  No, not yet! She is waiting.  Running out onto the porch with the trash to check, every morning.  Not yet, she knows it’s near, and so she waits.  Just the beginning of cooler weather in the mornings, just the very beginning, and she is impatient for temperatures to fall. She remembers the…

September’s poem(s) of the month

I have two lovely daughters’ birthdays this month, so the poetry is some that I’d written for them when they were much younger.  The first is for Kori, who turns 21 and the second is for Amy, turning 15.  All my love, ladies, and Happy Birthday!! Moo🙂 A daughter, explained Kindness took the watch with…

This school year, protect your kid (and yourself) from bullies.

According to DoSomething.org, a website created to promote social change and provide support for victims by campaigning to make the world “suck less,” Over 3.2 million students are victims of bullying each year. Approximately 160,000 teens skip school every day because of bullying. Three days after my daughter started her freshman year of high school,…

Next World Leader, in Miniature?

via Daily Prompt: Miniature I remember vividly when I broke the news about the presidential election in 2008, and the democratic nominees, to my then ten year old daughter, Abby.  I knew, even though so young, she had developed her own unique and strong opinions, and that she would appreciate the fact that a woman was…

Revelation: I’ve been a scared-ass writer

When I was a kid, I used to love the high dive.  I don’t mean the “higher” diving board, we had that, too.  I mean that solid, grey-brown block of pounds and pounds and pounds of smooth concrete, with the ladder that reached to God, Himself.  Never look down while climbing up.  Walk to the…

Don’t let your past define your present.

March, 2011– The yelling jolted me awake around 7am; through my feverish, chest infected fog, and it was coming from the girls’ room upstairs. I ran up to find my 9 year old covered in blood from her thighs down. What 9 year old removes a window and uses it AS A BRIDGE to walk…

August’s Poem of the Month

Memory This one little bit I will keep for me, today; hide it up on a dark, damp, weather-worn shelf. I will look again later, peruse when I’m ready, and so from my mind, I seal it up for myself. Neat and tidy; boxed and safe, don’t ask me for it, it’s put away. I…

Why I support Black Lives Matter

It’s the bottom rung, folks…the last of a series of rungs and the furthest from the top. And so we must make it the beginning, where else is there to start from? We must recognize this bottom rung, and build up from it.  We cannot entrust goodness and prosperity, fairness and justice to the trickle-down…

on violation and shame: a letter to my children

I am violated.  I am ashamed. You may not think this affects me; a straight white girl of very modest income bordering on non-existent income. A white girl far removed from Missouri, Florida, Louisiana, and now Texas;  and all the other numerous places of violation and shame. A white girl safe in her small village,…

July’s Poem of the Month

The Gutter Grub along each gutter pennies tight in fist cigarette butts half smoked how did it come to this? Peel through life’s trash left discarded without thought maybe a treasure here or the scrounge will be for naught. Bread and milk to buy a nickel here and there the search goes on and on…

When a writer tries to send a brief, informative email…

I never considered myself a writer while growing up.  There were no journal entries, no school paper reporting, no long winded love notes.  I beat out essays for English and Psychology on an old typewriter my mother had lugged home from the library, and managed decent grades—if the material were interesting enough. Writing began when…