In the year of pandemic, we could linger in bed on a Tuesday morning and discuss our dreams. Stay in our pajamas. Savor juicy blueberry pancakes and the view outside our bay window. Beyond the glass is a tree I never used to notice — red pinpricks fleck its branches in early spring before becoming pale green buds that unfurl into cream-colored blossoms.
It's raining again. Gray drenches the sky and crimson leaves confetti slick sidewalks. I sit in my orange writing chair finishing an assignment when my preschooler pretzels his body over mine, presses his face in close and demands, "Dance with me! Dance with me!"
Sunlight warmed her shoulders, and she felt something fluttering inside her, too. What was it, peace? Or maybe anticipation? She’d nearly forgotten the feeling.
Why can’t I focus? I write this in my pandemic journal, because I read journaling is a gift during this time and because “you’ll want to tell your grandkids about the 2020 pandemic” and because I already keep a journal. Focus? The situation at hand requires me to “work” from home with my preschooler underfoot. … Continue reading Work, worth and paying attention in the time of coronavirus
It snowed last Wednesday. Big wet clumps floated down, blanketing our hellebores, their full fuchsia faces turned up to the clouds as if to say, “Go ahead, test us.” “Has it always snowed this much in April?” I asked Jay, glancing out the window, not waiting for an answer. “Seems like it’s snowing more than … Continue reading What flowers know
inhale, rise. exhale fold. / stretch float flow / repeat
Whenever I replay it in my mind, the scene starts here: Me at the rear car door, hovering. Him with his head craned back, stalling.
She // is busy // picking up // pouring out // meeting // needs.
She looks in the mirror violet crescents shadow the delicate space below her tired eyes ring fingers tap cold cream trace new wrinkles etched in the corners and here’s an annoying pimple in her reflection, // her eyes move to her softened belly, once ballooned to carry a baby small breasts, once swelled to feed … Continue reading Beautiful
The Cut recently informed me that although some people don’t keep a diary, most of us have inboxes that serve as a “fossil record of our lives.” In other words, ancient emails are a window into our stories. Reading this, a small chuckle escaped my lips. I’d been sifting through emails the day prior for … Continue reading Lessons from 2019