Drained....

Midnight in the kitchen.

The 99 cent bubbles
swirled,
twirled,
cascaded one
right after another down the drain,
each one another hopeful contestent for the Miss America Pageant...
savoring her moment of fame,
bottom lip quivering,
then disappearing forever...

Tiny little Hungry Man Dinner carrots
bobbed,
drowning,
but pretending for a moment to be orange buoys in a silver sea.

I turned the water on harder.
Hot and Cold.
Everything at once.

I splayed my fingertips under the spigot, water splattering, spraying, splashing everywhere.

I cried.

And then I saw them.


The butterfly wings.....

It doesn't matter whose child it is....

There were wires everywhere and the hum of soft shoes padding up and down the halls almost drove me mad. How could they be so quiet when my world was exploding? How could my heart pound louder than every machine they had plugged in, louder than the canned voice calling Dr. Kildare on the loud speaker? How could they not crumple, fall to their knees with me...and know....

Long before he stabilized they told me in a foreign antiseptic language..."we've done all we can do"... and then they scattered, pigeons on a highway dodging five o'clock traffic.

And then he lived.

They came back to pack him up, uninsured, in my little red car. Naked and broken. Nobody wished us well on the way out the door. They didn't call in the morning to check on him.

This time they kept him.

And for 72 hours someone will watch over my child. With the cheese curl toes. The homemade tattoo on his ankle. The blonde hair with the slightest red sunset. For 72 hours he will be mad, but he'll breathe.

And I'll cry,
But I'll sleep...

Because he'll be safe....

Room for rent....

It's raining. Not drops or drizzles or showers. Just silvery mist left over from the night before, still falling, drifting from the sky like weightless summer snowflakes. I raise my cup of coffee and we clink! to each other, hot steamy morning cocktails on the porch. My friend and I.

For the longest time, we don't say a word. Watch the children across the street tumble out the front door, on rollerblades, two wheeled spider bikes, and bellies-to-the-pavement on makeshift skateboards. Christmas morning all over again....in their world.

We light cigarettes in sync, exhale into the mist. "Isn't if funny how we all met, came together......" she says. "Yeah.... it's weird" "And how much everything has changed" "And stayed the same" "We've watched a parade from this porch, down your drive-way, in and out of these screen doors" "Yeah....." "Its' been a good one", she said, snubbing out her 501. "I miss him"....an after thought in the rain. "Me, too."

I snub out my own cigarette, nod at the weeping sky outside the dusty screen...
"It's the butterfly"....
I know,I know, I know..... the endless butterfly effect"
"No, there she is.....dancing in the rain"
We watched her for the longest time, flitting from wet Iris blooms to the cool wet earth, and up into the palm fronds, doing adagio by herself in the morning sky.....

"I'm going home to my new husband now" she whispered, creeking the screen door open...walking barefoot out into the dampened sky....

I watched her, each step she took folding the wet grass into momentary footprints, ones that would rise and disappear when the sun came out again.

And I thought for the longest time about him. How blessed I was she married him, loved him, and how lucky I was. To have had him as my friend. And for a moment, I saw him. Standing there, leaning against the truck, smoking.... smiling, legs crossed, blue eyes cast into the rain....reminding me...

to believe....

I wish you peace.....

Plopped on the couch for days like a skinny little jelly fished washed a shore, I've had a lot of quiet time to myself. The incessant hum of the TV lugged into the living room for the occassion, lullabyes me back to sleep, again and again. I don't watch TV, but the parade of Angels tip-toeing in and out of my kitchen door, find comfort, I think, in flipping it on, tilting the screen toward the couch. I have no idea how to work the remote, so it's warm humming, a swarm of purring bees, rocks me back to sleep.
And I keep waking up with revelations.

Perhaps because Orhan reminded me how blessed I am by guardian spirits, I awoke today drenched with gratitude, and the overwhelming desire to write thank-you notes to the random angels in my life. The one's that don't get to see me smile, the ones I've never hugged or will never get to hug again, the one's I've been blessed with by chance..... The folks who have stepped both in and out of my life so quickly, and changed the butterfly effect forever.... I clink! you all, and thank you......

I start with these.....

Sweet Mothers of my daughters.....There are no words big enough to thank you for your trust, for gifting into my arms, your first born children. I see you everyday in their faces, their toes, the way one throws her head back when she laughs....the way they both think in black and white, siblings by chance, sisters by fate. I pray you know we love you, that we hope you believe in me, in us, in them, and know by trust, or faith, or visions from above that they are beautiful, headstrong, independent, and as in love with you as any Mother's child. I thank you often, but not often enough. And I just pray you know it. I can't send postcards to heaven, and I can't send them by first-name-only through general mail delivery. You were brave. You were strong. You loved your children so very, very much that you gave them emerald wings and they became my children....my dreams come true...my first born children, my precious daughters. There are no words big enough to wrap you in, to thank you with.....

Father of my children, Dad, Daddy.....We'll never sit next across from each other having heart-to-hearts, we don't speak the same language. And so I can't tell you this. And you would never understand. But I thank you for being there, the butterfly effect, so our family could be gathered. And I thank you just as much, for straying, for wandering, for our differences.... for pushing me to the bridge when it needed to be crossed. I thank you for leaving when I asked you to and trusting me to do right....to raise them, to love them and teach them to love you. I thank you for our freedom. For our wings......The girls are flying and free and Jonah keeps trying them on for size. One day, he'll find his fit and soar.....

Our lives have been rocky. And roller-coasterish. And wonderful. We've been broke and sometimes even poor. We've been afraid and sometimes terrified. We've been weak and sometimes broken. And we've been soldiers. Surrounded by an army of Angels. And that has made us rich, and sometimes generous. Brave and sometimes daring. Stronger than we ever imagined.

I wish you all peace and love,
and thank you....
endlessly

Clink! Tink!

I’m addicted to Michelob lights and Winston 100’s and dancing. I tried to quit smoking, took up chewing Eclipse , and now I’m addicted to that. Smacking, chomping… the instant rush of flavor, and then, the repetitive, soothing, comfort of the gum tucked just so, nashing on it instead of grinding my teeth. Just cut a huge chunk of my thinning hair off, no amount of ice or peanut butter would free the wad of last night’s gum from my morning bed-head. I didn’t care. It was worth it. I fell asleep with mountain air swimming in my lungs, and I slept in peace.


I’m addicted to the beach. To the chafing sand, tiny Styrofoam balls of salt , crunching under my feet, clinging to my skin, falling from my hair. To the tired broken shells….washed up finally, from fatigue or fate, waiting in the cheese line….praying to be found, scooped up into a plastic bucket, a pocket, an open palm…..and to finally rest in peace. To the rheumy tide. Tattled on in the Farmer’s Almanac. But not predictable. Don’t ever let her fool you.


I’m addicted to crayons and colored makers and pencils and ink. I’ve collected a thousand colors in as many shapes and still it is not enough. I’m sure I am missing opaque shades of the sky, the skin, the soul…….


I’m addicted to signs. Little nuances that point me in the right way….yellow butterflies, perfect songs, license tags that spell out my fate……and billboards that knock you down and drag you down the wrong road , kicking and screaming, and loving every moment of it…a sunshine charm found in the sand, red wine on sale, the car clock stuck on midnight, hurricanes….. I’m really, really good at twisting them into my own make believe meant-to-be’s….

And I'm addicted to laughter. Something I "cold-turkeyed" a long time ago. Gave up. Just like that. They were good years,I smiled, I nodded, I danced in line. But I didn't laugh. Didn't get the Sunday School Giggles that can't be tucked under your petticoat, the "Yes, Sir, Officer" "No, I was just sneezing, looking for my registration" hiccups...I just smiled....lived...settled. And then I fell out of a hammock, on the perfect day, and started laughing again. And it was perfect. A helium high. Cheap thrills for the soul. A little rock and roll. And damn, I love rock and roll....

I’m addicted to peace and love. And understand I might die before I see them through. But I believe, and for that….

I have passion….

“They have support groups for people like us” he said; stubbing his cigarette into the dirty ashtray,
Laughing…..
and clinking .....

Midnight in the garden of good and " I can't believe I'm doing this....."

I have rules. Not very many. I’m bendy when it comes to rules, but still, I do have them. And I break them. Change my mind and tighten the ropes every now and then. Change my will and skip over a few, Chinese jump rope for the soul. Change my direction, without notice, and do back flips.

Now I’ve broken all of them. Wadded them up like 3 hour old Bazooka gum, spit them into a crumpled napkin, and tossed them out the window (Minimum $500 fine for littering and I don’t give a damn!)

I’m not inclined to be wreckless. I’m a scaredy cat. I’ll toy with trouble, put my big toe in and shiver from the icy cold, laugh, and pull it out again. Do The Hokie-Pokie and do it all again. But wreckless…..

This is a little new to me….

Still, this is the year of the slinky snake. Shedding skin that didn’t fit in the first place, replacing it with psychedelic colored rings that go round and round. This is the year I’m alive. This is the year of change. The year of peace and love in neon letters stolen from the corner store. The year of the moment. When collusion is birthed from chaos.

Catch me if you can…..

Eighteen today

I wear love beads and I believe...




Some things never change…..

I Must be Dreaming....

I woke up swallowing words. Whole words. Big chunks. It made my throat feel raspy, smoke scratched. Like trying to swallow Saltine crackers in the desert.

I blinked. There was no sunshine billowing through the curtains. It was dark. But morning still. I could hear birds. Chirping. Sqwauking actually. The cats were playing round-da-round, flying through the halls chasing the mischevious poltergeists that only come out to play in the last moments of night.

I almost choked. Swallowing whole phrases. Instant replay of every NEVER I ever said.... rushing past me, through me, into me. Eyes wide open now. Night vision working. Everything is the same. The same old comforter piled in a heap at my feet. The wooden floors scratched and carpeted with cat and dog hair dancing just above it's surface. The alarm clock glaring, the time set two hours and twenty minutes into the future. A reminder that I need to wake up confused, because the comfort of actually knowing what time it really is, will lull me back to sleep. I gulp. It's O.K. Everything is the same. I was just dreaming.

But I wasn't. That was hours ago, and there are words stuck in my throat, tatooing the sides, hanging on like tonsilitis..... I can't swallow them yet. Go there.

I said I would never ever again feel this way. Never ever again go this way. Never ever again.

I was wrong. Welcome to my World. It's all good, baby...
I still feel the butterflies....