Please help fund my dream. (My dream was that I was a sardine in a bait ball and you were a hammerhead, a great one.) (My dream was that I was the last hermit crab and you were an old marmalade jar.) (My dream was I was wandering in a narrow gorge with so very high… Continue reading Fund My Dream!
Last night I dreamed I was skating on glass. Nobody wants for mold to appear unbidden, and flourish, in the airspace between their double-paned windows; but, if it must, they can only hope for the crystal kind whose fine filaments creep into your nighttime with whisperings of snow. From the Old Norse vindr auga came the word window: ‘wind… Continue reading The Uninvited
Two Lovely Things, Briefly Noted
1. My first short story, 'Lay Down The Dark Layers', has been published by the Irish literary magazine, The Stinging Fly (hurrah!) 2. This anthology---Winged: New Writing on Bees---is essential and beautiful and its existence in the world makes me happy (about some humans and all bees).
I could be content being a one-trick pony.
Someone, put me out to pasture with an apple and a wand. No. Wait. Sugar cube and a cape.
“The gift of writing is to be self forgetful…
...to get a surge of inner life or inner supply or unexpected sense of empowerment, to be afloat, to be out of yourself." - Seamus Heaney.
For now, Portland Oregon
A short essay I wrote is up on Orion Magazine's website. "My husband wants land. He digs through websites, hoping to uncover a patch we could afford. I want it too but it hurts to see him look at places someone else will live on, or subdivide. It’s not our time, yet. We plant pennies… Continue reading For now, Portland Oregon
Breakfast silence broken when a small bird hit the clear glass door. Quite the commotion.
Memoir in ‘E’
Earthworms and Earwigs. I was afraid to dig in the garden or nap in the grass. Eavesdropping. I came down the stairs one night to get a glass of water and what I heard from beyond the door frightened me more. Ebb tide. Carry me away.
Memoir in ‘E’
I never cared for the name Edna, and I still carry the unreasonableness of a child who appraises a person by the name assigned to them against their consent or knowledge at birth. Why, for example, couldn't her parents (she was a lady in our church) have called her Effloresce which means to blossom, to… Continue reading Memoir in ‘E’
Memoir in ‘D’
Daddy Longlegs. "Dad! Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad! Get it out of here!"