for those gone before


one angel drops from flight
this slight
not quite
a thing that's right

as tears shine bright
in our fright
so trite
wanna be alright
left with only this plight
for try as we might
we can't fight

as we hug our loves tight
we invite
anger to incite
from this failed delight

we're done being polite
this bites
like spite
or a horrible rite
returned to mere blight

still this candle ignites
a white light
in our sight
and these prayers we recite



Haiku for the Dawn

Tired of the fighting
"Girl, shut up and sit down now!"
Inside the heart weeps


Where I Live

This is a map to where I live.

It's convoluted and most often, the quickest route to where you're headed is not necessarily the shortest. It seems to me there is always a lot of traffic on the roads, and conversation is easily derailed.

You can't get to where I live without this map, but for some reason people often try, as if something as simple as their internal sense of direction or a GPS will get them where they want to go. A simple stop at Google Maps won't do it either, as the web version is nothing more than a mere shadow of reality.

It's important to note, this map may be a bit outdated and may not be drawn to scale. Objects in the mirror may actually be closer than they appear, and there's always construction on the path. My apologies for the detours, the early exits, and the necessity of back country roads. You really can't get to where I live without enjoying the scenery or without truly appreciating and experiencing this road trip.

Please note as well, the landmarks and the mentions of where things "used to be," but don't worry if you missed them. Sometimes even I do. I realize that it's easy to lose your way in this ever-changing scape, but that same quality of never-ending shifting means there are always new and different paths to explore. These new and sometimes better paths continue to emerge for those who want to find where I live, and spend time with me in this place where I am.


This is what we know...

for Susan, Jess, and all the rest

It's the smell of warm sunshine
and how the song feels
as it seeps into your tongue
with it's sweetness revealed

It's the sound as the snow falls
and the taste of the clouds
as it lays on the landscapes
silently screaming aloud

It's the flavors you see
with your eyes tightly closed
as you wait for a kiss
and smell music composed

It's these felt and seen mysteries
heard in softness of gold
where we hide all these secrets
that we know but aren't told


Flying Stars

Impatient bare feet tap on splintering steps
awaiting the sinking of day

To chase after these stars
like baby pieces of faerie magicks
and trap them in little jars

Like gathered pieces of our glittering dreams
displaying our hearts beneath glass

Like fractured moonlight
illuminated in breath
blinking here deep in the night


"Do these words tell you how deeply I love? Do they tell you what I dreamed of as a little girl; do they tell you what I dream of now? ... Do they tell you that in the summers, I sit out on the back porch and wait for the fireflies to emerge because they remind me of a thousand stars that I can actually reach out and touch?" ~ Susan Pogorzelski


Slouching Toward Summer

A Martyred Memoir

They giggled as they ran through the field. Chasing one another, looking not quite alike, but not entirely different. They lived in different places, barely knew each other, but the bond between them was stronger than trust. It was blood.

As their grandmother watched through the farm-kitchen window, they hefted their bags over shoulders. The lunch she'd prepared to be eaten later bumped on their backs as they ran.

There were three boys and three girls, the six that were caught in the middle. The two looked like twin sisters to the indiscriminating eye, and they liked to pretend they were, although they lived miles apart.

Hot sun pounded down as they kicked off their shoes, sweltering toes released. As their freely bared feet padded through hills of weeds, all warnings of ticks and snakes were ignored, exchanged for the freedom of summer and this distance from rules.

As they topped the last hill and began their descent, the cool water of the creek invited. Dropping shoes and lunches on the bank of the creek, they raced toward the edge. "Last one in is a rotten egg," but no one bothered to note who that was.

They splashed for a few minutes and cooled themselves off, before returning to their bags on the shore. They opened the treasures that Gramma had packed: buttered bread, cold chicken pieces, sweet pickles, and still warm sugared cookies.

Laughing and teasing as if always friends, the six of them shared this meal.

The sun inspired a glistening sweat as they finished the last of their food. Quickly, they stuffed empty wrappers and shoes back into bags and threw them in a heap, before returning to the relief of the creek.

Several minutes later, the happy splashing became an all out war of girls vs. boys. What little they'd done to try to keep clothes dry, was thrown to the wind amid huge tidal waves created by their arms.

It was when she lost her footing and fell to the stony bottom of the creek, her ankle cut and knee skinned, that she screamed loud enough to cause them all to stare, frozen.

The eyes black as night simply glared at her as the body lashed against her leg. The angry hiss was covered by the shrieking of the other five, scrambling toward the bank, desperate to escape this sudden danger.

Never in their lives had they moved so fast, gathering their things as they fled.

She was last to get out, mesmerized by those eyes, and faltering to even stand. As she pulled herself out from the now-tainted space, she noted the others had left her behind.

She decided to run, but her feet wouldn't listen. Instead they turned in a fascinated draw. She stood on the bank and stared at the snake, striking visciously at nothing at all.

Somehow she knew this would be her whole life: constantly running from imaginary danger.


On Divisions Forgiven

Jesus said, "Father, forgive them,

for they do not know what they are doing. "
And they divided up his clothes by casting lots.
~Luke 23:34 (NIV)

Casting Our Lots

Dear Father~
Forgive us as we draw now the lines
in these plans we create with elaborate lies
Dear Father~
Forgive us as we pick up these shards
from patterns destructive and our lack of regard
Dear Father~
Forgive us as we fight through our losses
for the times we forget this exorbitant cost
Dear Father~
Forgive us as we don't have a clue
of this fleeting heartbreak we stupidly choose

Dear Father~ Please, help us now as we cast our lots, wanting to hold onto things that don't matter. May we always remember that in our focus on "stuff," we often overlook the greatest gift ever offered to us: to be seen and known, truly understood, and that in seeing our true selves stripped and laid bare, you offer us mercy and forgive anyway.