Lace and Yellow Roses

It has been six months since my grandmother’s passing.  Sometimes things like art grow still inside a grieving heart.  Perhaps I'm ready to write again. Time will tell. She was singing a year ago, Thanksgiving in our kitchen, Which is why I remember it. Now I watch, through the narrow slit of a newly painted …

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Astonished.

There are still things inside the world to bring astonishment. The first sip from a cup of coffee in the morning, while you watch the dayglow filter through the window. The way that someone asks how are you and they really mean it. The eggs that I collect, each morning, from my chickens. The weight …

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A Rendering…

Render.  What is this body I have made? How strange, this physicality of self.  The things I have become, and all of those I haven’t. Sometimes, when my eyes are not quite working right, I look like someone else inside the mirror.  Unfamiliar.  Foreign.  I wonder if my mother would still know me—but, of course, …

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