This Morning

I should have tossed the roses he sent
washed the vase of the stench
soaped and scrubbed it clean-
that kind of end to it.
Not this chitchat in bed-
the blinds left open,
the sun coming through.
Light cuts holes in the dark
revealing his skin,
the rise and fall of his chest.
Light stretches across a room
"You seem fragile," he says
and I cannot bear the glimpse of his beard
or his new, expensive shoes.

Sylvester

sylvester does not share my need for personal space. (maybe that's not such a bad thing.)

Shelter From The Storm

Treasures

Family

Mexico 2006

After my mom died I ran away. I think I was looking for her. Going

the places she had been. She had moved to Arizona when she and

my father first got married. So I went to Arizona too.

She had to be somewhere. It seemed like a good place to start.

I didn't find her there. But I found a lot of other things. I found

Mexico. I found hard work and hard workers. I found a Native American

funeral, and it was there I learned about crying. I've never heard sobs like

that in my life. The woman sounded the way that I felt, and her sobs still echo in me.

Someday I will learn to work like a Mexican man in the field and sob like a Native American mother

buring her child.

Springfield, MA

I was told to journal about my feelings. To identify the things that made me

feel good, alive, and human.

Flowers are one of those things. I keep fresh flowers on my kitchen table.

I garden. I notice them everywhere I go. The vibrant colors.

The unique petal shapes. The sad way a sunflower bows it's head at night

and wakes up cheerfully in the morning.

Northampton, MA.

I love old things. Old people. Books. Cars. Buildings. Shoes.

Anything that looks worn. Anything that has a story to tell.

Old things give me hope, that maybe I will get better with age.

That maybe there's something out there that will last forever.

Christiane and Annie