i want to say it was summer
that afternoon
we coiled like smoke
around each other
on the couch
watching reruns
of Sanford and Son
straight, broke, hungry
but none of that mattered…
i want to say it was summer
as i laid there
tangled up in you
and knew for the first time
what it meant
to love someone
with my whole mind
and body and spirit
to be in your arms
and yet ache
to devour you
at the same time

i want to say it was summer
because it was…
it was the summer of my life...

Posted in response to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto Challenge



Chena Sled Dog

I go for the Aurora Borealis. I think witnessing such grandeur will infuse color into this black and white existence I have called a life for way too long. I am not prepared to lose my heart to a bunch of mixed breed dogs tethered on 12 foot chains, overlooking little wooden houses, encircled by hard packed yellow snow.

As the sled pulls into the kennel, the tethered dogs oneness of vision is glaringly evident. They howl and dance and run and jest, “Pick me! Pick me!” they cry out- as a lump forms in my throat, and tears come- I feel their lust..

It is then that I realize, I lack their singleness of vision. I am so busy struggling to have it all, I have nothing..

As I settle into the sled, and feel the magnificence that is attained by the singular vision of ten mixed breed dogs pulling together, I know, alas- I have found my teacher..

Icy arctic air

alone, cannot obscure what

I have come to learn.

Written fort Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday #synonyms only for meaning and passion. My choices are italicized.

But instead

Aged on Pixabay

I called her today.. I called her because I wanted to tell her how much I loved her.
How much she means to me. How she had once been the very center of my world,
and no one had ever been able to take her place…
But instead we talked about the weather, her class reunion,
and the way that age had of making things that once seemed so all important
bleed and fade like unblotted ink on a page….

I called her today. I wanted to remind her that she was my first love,
that I had never loved anyone as much as I loved her.
That it was her love that had made all other loves possible..
And against which, they would all forever be judged.
But instead I told her about the the poem I had written, and the book I may well never finish.
We talked about the garden and the dogs and the man who said he would come to cut the grass,,
but never did…

I called her today. My heart so full of love, my mind overflowing with memories
of the times we spent in each others arms, the tender goodnight kisses, the loving glances
that stripped me of my insecurities and made me feel as if I could conquer the world
But instead I told her that I would talk to her later, as this long distance was costing me a fortune-
and anyway, I should be feeding the cats, and getting the dogs in for dinner, or folding the clothes
that finished drying an hour or so ago….

I called her today. With every intention of making today the day I told her
all the things that have been weighing so heavily on my heart.
All the things I have wanted to say for so long but had never gathered the courage to do so,,
All the things I don’t want either of us to ever leave this world without me having said…
But instead I waited until after we had said our goodbyes, and then added- almost as an afterthought-
“I love you…but you know that, right?”

Hors d’oeuvre?

I empty myself onto the page. I bleed and spit and wretch. I masticate the sinuous scraps I cannot swallow, spread them on saltines, and serve them as hors d’oeuvres. I offer them to strangers, on gaily appointed silver platters saying, “Take of this and eat.” Because I know those words are baited, and he to whom they are ascribed, uses them to fish for men. In much the same way I fish for absolution.

Written for BrewNSpew cafe weekly prompt: Empty

The Scent

In 1977 in North Olmsted, Ohio a 17 year old girl, named Yvonne Regler went to work at a local gas station/convenience store on a sunny summer afternoon- and just disappeared. The money was still in the till. She left her purse behind. There were no signs of foul play…

Like a wisp of smoke

trailing from the wick

of an outed candle,

she disappeared silently..

Slipped, from the light

into the dark..

The scent

of the burning wax

remained in the air

(an acceptable amount of time-

as we tucked ourselves away

safely in our soft suburban beds)

and then, like she-

was gone- without a trace…


sometimes when I breath

the tender curl

of her waxen smoke


as if from nowhere..

It will fill the air,

then just as quickly-

once again, be gone..

A gentle reminder

of an ordinary girl

on an ordinary day

in an ordinary place-

on extraordinary journey..

Long since removed

but never quite forgotten….

Posted for MLMM Prompt: Harbinger