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Showing posts from 2017

Kitchen Times

Tea-sipping, cookies baking,
laughing until it hurts
knowing the hurts are normal
that perfect is a dream
the Devil laid on me.
Imperfection is holy.
It's how we learn.
White picket fences are cliche
and against the Deed of Restrictions
Mine is the house with a weed-tangled yard
tricycle and garden tools
sitting askew.
Kitchen with hot tea,
fresh cookies
and room for imperfection.

Caution: Perfection

Homes with yards lush and green
screaming behind a door screen
weed-choked yards that give way
to a cup of a tea and a cookie on a rough day

Which of these is yours?
Why don't we all do less
criticizing of the mess
and more knocking on doors?


1400 square feet 2 bedrooms, 1.5 bathsAddition can be dining room or sun room- you decide.Unfinished dreams...
BASEMENT. Unfinished basement.
Fireplace in good shape, just needs a cleaning. Cozy.('Cozy' is a euphemism the way 'personality' can be.) (But I digress.)
Half story upstairs could be used as third bedroom.Half bath downstairs features utility sink and shower.Though there is No toilet.But really, in all seriousness, that still counts as a half bath.And you know, you could install one.Fix it up.
With a little paint and some remodeling, no one would ever know its age. 
If only you make some small changes- It could still be someone's home.

Dear Betty

Dear Betty,

The instructions on
the angel food cake
indicate errors I'm likely to make.

In future,
do you think you would mind
making directions a little more kind?

Instill a sense of "you can do this!"
Not "don't mess up,
it'll taste like piss."

And wtf IS an angel food pan?
I didn't realize I'd have to plan.
To bake a cake right from the box.
It's harder than breaking into
Fort Knox.

Now I wait
with the timer counting 37.
In hopes to create
a cake from heaven.

But if it's bad,
I'll blame your writers.
For making baking harder
than changing tires.


tiny winged mammals gliding through the air above eating enemies 

Ode to my Subaru

Trashed piled up, not signs of a critter - a testament to "We Don't Litter"
French fries foisted in the air He is 3 and he just don't care.
Trash bag and tissues wedged in the center. "That sign says Do Not Enter!"
Rubber mats and an engine of gold - My son wants to drive you when he's "old".
Hatchback that can hold anything Leveling up the roadtrip packing game.
All wheels. Four wheels. Drive baby drive. Along our route, you remind me I'm alive.


A honk for hello Friendly waves as we walk by Wagons bikes tikes


Passive aggressive anonymous snarkiness friendship is finest

We couldn't if we wanted to...

a short, one-act play about privilege and discourse

White Person: all you have to do is work hard. It's not easy, but it's simple.
Me: it's not right that people with dark skin or gay people or people of certain religions or differently abled people have to work harder than white people for the same results.
White Person: that's not true! How can you say that about [non-White friend]'s family??? They have worked so so hard for their success!
Me: ...

red wine

You'd probably think we women are alcoholics
With our red wine

Maybe we are
Some of us

But mostly we're not. We're just

trying to be free

Feel free

Lessen the pain

Physical pain


We're well read and well groomed and employed or employable and doing our best and giving our all and working and writing and recycling and yoga and meditation and counseling and medicating and mothering and sistering and wifing and cleaning and making and crafting and photographing and scrapping and and and and and


Dont judge our glasses of wine.


We give up our names
in a sacred ceremony of

We give up our names
so we can claim
our children.
Or perhaps
so they will claim us.

Now our children own our names.
Ofchris, Offin, Ofmaria.
The question is always
Who is your child?
Who are you?

astral projection

a back roads milky way sky
each star a memory or lie
    or that time that you cried in front of your boss
or a dream you once had to pursue
    until you woke or died
or that awkward deja vu
    of feeling familiar when they say it's just you
stars that form constellations
of revelations
and knowledge that sees
the intimate history
speeding away in the deep


We are still here,
we forgotten women,
hidden behind our
husbands, sons.

Working, each in her own way.
Behind laptops, behind cameras, behind closed office doors.
Flinching when the phone rings, or the boss walks by.

Waiting for the deliveries.
Online retailers make
our lives easier,
we say.

But we miss shopping together.
The sisterhood of shopping trips.
We don't know if these pants make our asses look big until
it's too late.
We are committed to these pants now.

Just as we are committed to our families.
Joy in watching each other's
children flourish.
We smile over coffee,
knowingly. She
did that.

We whisper to each other
what we've given up.

We whisper to each other, wondering
How did she vote?
Is she one of us?
We whisper as we try not to judge one another
for how we take our coffee.

We whisper our secrets to
empty houses.

Waiting for the husbands, sons
to come home.

We whisper to
ourselves, to
each other,
You can do this.