Monthly Archives: August 2017

I pray 

My walls are enough. Put down the pictures.

My laugh is enough. Turn off the movie.

My child is perfect. Look away from the others.

My life is mine. Turn my eyes inward. Spend time attending to the dishes and the laundry. Clean the acorns off the driveway.  

Plants thrive when spoken to. So too inner peace. Spend time being in my life, molding it, spinning on a potter’s wheel, wet clay in my hands. 

Make the beds and sweep the floors. If a storm comes, I’ll be ready.

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Pesto and nazis and nuclear war

I can feel my chapstick drying on my lips as I lay in bed trying not to worry about how my son will return to school with a broken arm and how will I be there for us enough working the night shift I can’t even go to Meet the Teacher evening but someone has to pay for the cast and his dad’s emergency appendectomy these are not sexy thoughts these are 42 yr old thoughts.

I breathe in and out and suddenly it’s tomorrow.

Nazis wave Confederate flags and some lunatic says his nuclear missiles can reach us making my face break out.

Those two white butterflies chase each other outside the kitchen window where the smell of pesto beckons us all to dinner.