Shifting Clouds

Like carrying a preventative umbrella on a sunny day
I tell you my flaws before you kiss me
Because you never know
If they’ll want to know you
(who’s they?
are they flaws?
are they flawed?)



Ingrown Roots

What is it that you despise within?
Privately in your solitude
You look for comfort in the ancient pages
Of the books made from the tree of life.
Found on your shelf
Of all shelves,
To help you
Of all selves.



The summer both Mama and our dog
Had a herniated disk in their lower backs
Both cried in pain and in sympathy.

We talked about death and quality of life
Which didn’t feel so different
There on our kitchen floor.

I sat with my coffee and a book
In the early morning
The dog already in pain
(Not early enough)
My hand resting on his panting head
Not comforting enough.

It is not easy to look into a dog’s eyes
As he is waiting to end.

He aged within three days
Becoming paralyzed.
The cat stopped by to smell his legs
And for a second I thought they might work again.
We read him stories to let him imagine that they would.

I brought a mattress into the living room
To sleep beside the dog
With our heads resting close
Each breathing in our own animal way.


We Search the Horizon

A painting with a quotation from the beautiful mind Dr. Rita Charon (specifically, her book Narrative Medicine: Honoring the Stories of Illness)

We search the horizon … seeking ways to recognize ourselves and those around us, yearning to place ourselves within space and time (and infinity), dramatizing our stuborn beliefs that life means something and that we ourselves matter.

Rita Charon Painting