Friday, May 13, 2016


I'm thinking the word ruminative this morning from pink sheets and angry words. How the tides come in and then go out. How fatigue shapes the mouth tilts the eyes weighs heavy. Someone is a curling wave and another is still murk. We're 90 percent water. Mea culpa. The confessional box. When I made my first confession, I bounced up and down on the kneepad, making the little light over the screen window flash on and off. It slid open, the priest's head a shadow. Wait a sec, hon, his mouth was murky. He slid the window back. Silence. Darkness. We're told to shoot for the moon because if we miss, we'll land among stars.


  1. I often wonder if you know what an incredible poet you are.

  2. your words; visually descriptive; precise and yet macro. "pink sheets and angry words" what a juxtaposition.

    Have a good weekend, friend.

  3. Ahhh! Gorgeous. So lovely. Ms. Moon is right. You are an incredible poet.

  4. I peed in the confessional my first time and ran through some sins as quick as I could, so I wouldn't be around when the priests shoes started to soak.

  5. You are so talented...we are blessed that you share it with us



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