I’m still here, and yet
the thin stream
of a chicken hawk
vanishes into
the white sky
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tanka
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 – 08
The first night back home, I sit alone on the couch and listen.
When we were in high school, she leaned in close.
To the quiet. To the cats’ rediscovering their favorite spots. To the heater kicking on.
“Your eyes are blue, but you have a bright yellow ring around the pupils. That’s really cool.”
To the shadows. To the sharp ache that threatens to tear though my shoulder.
northern lights
visible somewhere
behind the clouds
even the cold
moves on
Mindful Writing 2014 – 04
The cats and I spend the night in my parents’ basement, waiting for the snow. Swallowed by the darkness, I lose a sense of time and space. Even the howling outside is replaced by the bedside LED lamp’s buzzing. The storm could come and go and I would never know.
my grandfather
refused to be buried
underground—
the silence
the silence
[November sun]
Yay Words! 