Mother, may I laugh with you, even as you breathe
out your last memory on the Covid floor?
Oh the days we laughed, once I was a child no more. Continue reading
true story
The Weight of Thoughts
Sometimes I can feel my bones straining under the weight of my thoughts. And that’s wrong, all wrong, so I strain more in the down dog position, where my arms and wrists and shoulders take on the weight of my trunk.
My trunk. What a word for my body, which is pack full of multi-grain toast now at 9 in the morning, as well as three cups of hot green tea that have not found a way to warm my fingers, cold down to the bone. Continue reading
No Visitors Allowed
My mom doesn’t understand that a virus is attacking the world.
She doesn’t know that those most at risk are the elderly and that at 96, she’s a non-moving target.
She doesn’t realize that the virus takes the most vulnerable, and those who live in a “memory care” facility are the most vulnerable. Continue reading
Tending to Your Garden
I wake up to a still darkened sky, illuminated by the moon as clouds shift through and around her.
The alarm doesn’t need to wake me. Instead, the sound of the surf and a tiny click click click alerts me to the fact that I want to be awake now.
Time to tend to my garden. Continue reading
LOVE Food
I don’t like pot pie. Well, deep inside I do, since my blood is English – way back to my great-great grandparents. So sure, I like pot pie the same way I like rose gardens and floral wallpaper and hot tea with milk.
But I used to never eat pot pie because, to be honest, it’s fattening; all flour and butter in the crust; butter and flour in the gravy; and then a speck of chicken in there. With maybe a pea or two. Continue reading
roughwighting 