Over the black ice, white tire tracks weave into one another with no other sign of those that came before me.
blue skies
too cold
even for my breath
small stone
Mindful Writing 2014 – 20
salon rafters—
she pulls the foil
from my hair
Mindful Writing 2014 – 19
Congratulating you on your engagement, I debate over the exclamation point. It needs to sound genuine. I want it to be genuine. I’m really not messaging you to remind you I exist.
I go with the exclamation point.
Afterward, I consider the relief as my heart plunks unceremoniously, without any sense of grace or dramatics, out of my chest. It’s not like I can talk to anyone about it. I’m not even sure what I would say.
So I tell the whole world.
You never read my blog anyway.
winter stars—
learning the lyrics
to a new song
Mindful Writing 2014 – 18
I lean back, topless, over the edge of the tub with a dry wash cloth over my face. My mother tells me it’s coming, and I kindly ask her not to waterboard me with the white vinegar.
The chill slips over my scalp and splatters into the tub. My nose burns and I crave chips. The iciness comes after.
“I guess I should have heated it up first,” my mother comments.
It takes several pours before my hyper copper hair begins to absorb the vinegar. I shiver to the brink of feeling my teeth chatter, but she assures me the color is coming out.
first to drive
in the fresh snow
I round the corner
too fast—all the possibilities
before the car stops
Mindful Writing 2014 – 17
In memory of Kat Creighton
drifting snow . . .
how quietly
she leaves the room
Yay Words! 