Monday, July 7, 2014

Directions to My Home

daffodil light

You can find my newest post up at my author website,

Is that a new website?, you ask.
And I say, It is.  Thanks for noticing.

I'll show you.  It's just this way:

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

The Halves

This morning I dreamt I was male, pregnant, and in labor. My friend was female, pregnant, and in labor too. We sat facing each other with our feet pressed together, breathing hard and pushing. Creating, creating, creating. Will have to see what comes next.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Morning's fog is vanishing

Foggy Sunday morning.  Clouds drape the hills, and mist rides the air like memories of Oregon roadtrips, condensing on branch tips. 
Already, the mist is glowing brighter, which means soon enough the sun will burn a hole through the clouds and heat away the overcast.  A couple quail stop by the yard to peck at grass blades. 

It’s Easter for the Christians.  Resurrection.  The morning’s fog on the hills is vanishing, though still like a mesh scrim over certain peaks, and there are rich blues hanging in the blowing cotton sky.  The air is a layered collage of birdsongs and bees, and couple-birds swoop here and there.  I open the glass door to share the day, and a little brown bird is industrious in the leaves.  His repetitious 3-kicks-and-a-peck remind me of a dancing cowboy.

(For audio, press the Play button.)

Sunday, March 30, 2014

A Wild Thing Full of Magnets

I have been a mind and ability; I have been plans and focus and fiery hopeful belief.  But when you speak, keys fall through your voice, and go unlocking me, freeing a body that erupts beneath my eyes and lips.  My long lost body, beautiful and imperfect, silken-haired and scarred—a wild thing full of magnets, now pulled toward you and all the keys falling through your voice.

It’s magic, to grow legs and feet and breasts and hands, and yet, my body confuses time and disrupts my eagle-eye and dream strategies, by leaning forward, by wanting and ringing, ringing like that tinkling pile of keys left on the floor after your oblivious magic tricks.  And I say nothing, go back to my long-term goals, but I don’t fit on the chair anymore; my legs kick, my ass bumps the cushion off, and I’m a wild animal in the house. 

My missing half of me returned, now I don't fit.  Shoved from my logic dreams, in a body, I’m lonely.  Yet how can I not be grateful for the amazing trick and replay how all you did was talk, and here I unlocked and went unfurling like I’ve been a jack-in-the-box all along.

So now I’m a tangle of hips and arms and belly, wrapped 'round with one-eyed plans, but for those minutes when you told a story, I remembered how to be complete.  Thanks for the unlocking and zap and the beautiful electricity powering you, even if now all my hands get in their own way.  Still, the trick was glorious, and terrible and more real than I’d remembered. 

Bless your voice’s keys, and now let me tend to this weird, blazing day.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Choices for Celebrations

Today is St. Patrick's Day, of the famed green food dye and drinking.  This is how we handle history. We twist it to make a holiday for easier fabrications. 

Here's a really good article about the dark history of green food on St. Patrick's Day and other surprising truths: 

Not to mention the most obvious of St. Paddy's history-twists, that it celebrates when St. Patrick rid Ireland of snakes, as if Ireland ever had snakes, when that's simply a metaphor for the huge attack launched against individual people when the Christians tried to stomp out the native pagan traditions. 

I think holidays are most valuable for reminding us to let go and celebrate sometimes, but why not celebrate for better reasons? Celebrate the victories whatever size, the fortitude, the beauty, the memories, the reminders, the thankfulness for being here together?

Celebrating heals us, and there's so much to pay tribute to and enjoy.  Toast to the real life we're sharing here.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Holy Canoli

The salty and deft [PANK] Magazine interviewed me about my story, “Our Master of Psalmody,” which appeared in their February issue. 

You can read my secrets here:

(photo: "Offering to the Willow Tree" -Dawn Sperber)

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Fall's Gold

Definitely fall going on, as the miraculously colored turning leaves scatter down in certain charmed minutes, as if some hidden squirrel is conducting from a branch above, tongue out in concentration, watching the day’s symphony, “And GO,” he motions and seven yellow aspen leaves drop diagonally through the air, with three tapdancing across the brick patio.  “Yes!” the squirrel whispers, nodding approval to the relieved and awed performers, who nervously shimmy leaves, getting ready for their next solos.

Devoted to the performance, they all continue whether anyone’s watching or not.  I’m totally doing something else, when I happen to glance up during an obvious crescendo—thirty golden leaves raining on the yard like Zeus’s impregnating shower.  Danae and I applaud the show with our legs crossed.  “I’ll just watch from over here, thanks.”  She says she’s had enough gold to last her awhile, and then plucks an aspen leaf from my hair.  She offers it to me like this bright leaf is the treasure of dark winter.  I can see why.

(photo: "Presence, lap full, among the wild roses" -Dawn Sperber)