Browsing All Posts filed under »having a hard time seeing past my own two feet«

Seize the Fish

July 19, 2011


This weekend has not been so fun. Friday was my husband’s birthday, which was the good thing. The bad thing was that there was an opportunity so close for us that I could taste it. I figured that all that was (really) left in the decision process was just to stop and get the celebratory […]

Thanks for doing the dishes.

January 28, 2009


Sometimes we treat people like dishes. We clean them up, wash them, put them away in the cupboard only to pull them back out and use them all over again.


February 1, 2008


“One thing that has bothered me with <3s is that they always look broken.”

The hunger to draw on the glass and see through it too

December 14, 2007


My hunger for the beauty of this life far exceeds physical hunger. It manifests itself in some of the smallest ways, and yet this is the hunger that keeps my feet moving, my eyes open, and my heart swelling and beating. It’s my hunger for oxygen when I wake in the morning, my hunger to […]

The Window Washer

November 30, 2007


Lengthen your life like a shadow A blue one that creeps into a quiet Greek cafe on Sunday afternoon Lengthen your life and shorten how time goes by Make poems last longer and the bittersweet transform quicker into beauty A slow afternoon Watching worlds pass by A window washer taking the February afternoon one gust […]

A morning for the exploding!

November 19, 2007


(Know that I’m talking to several people at once. Almost every “you” in here is different from the one before it.) Something about last night reminded me of December a few years back. Your hands kept mine warm as we walked through the hidden, slumbering, snowy neighborhoods. We talked about pain and the few situations […]

A china doll.

September 6, 2007


I am thinking of you. I cannot hide it. You are far from here, but the afternoon is overcast and the warm breeze is whispering someone’s name. I am listening closely but I try to appear as if I cannot hear the lowered voice of the wind. For the first time I wish myself a┬áreason […]