psa

I deactivated Twitter. If you ever see "somethingkaty" on Twitter, it's not me anymore. 

on empty

my tank is the shape
of an oversized mug

and it's already empty again -
after refill, after refill and another

so I'm searching for road signs
to the closest refill with my empty can

on a sunny summer Wednesday
after everyone else has already gone

leaving me with no one to walk 
through the last hour alongside 

burning

I am burning through

Changes too quickly to count

These forest fires

divining

sometimes I force the words
and end up starting a poem 

with words like awaken and purchase
to describe an itchy scalp 

caused by cheap shampoo
imported from Japan

in an expensive looking bottle
shaped like a jar of honey

not today

mental health supply chain issues

result in crying at work, chocolate for dinner,

stubbed toe, piles of dirty laundry,

unwashed hair, and four unfinished books

in a pile by the bed with dogeared pages

and dreams of being read.

not my day

when I am still

there is still a storm inside

day 4

getting people's names wrong

day 3

step back, this isn't

about me. it's my turn

to be the pillar. make that

what I'm about.

day 2

I like the ability

to change the words around

after I've given them life.

If I could wield that spell

for spoken word too

what a powerful witch I could be.

day 1

yesterday we travelled through time

together we landed in my city

and once we got out, got on the highway

heading home, away from the city

you said you felt like home

this far from home, finally.

anniversary

why do I hang on to 

his disgust for my grief

for you?

why make excuses 

for someone who should have cared

more for my heart than his selfish need

for denial?

blue detail

seven out of ten

fingertips warmed by a cup

on an autumn day

peaks

chickens at Blaze farm

don't think highly of children

they prefer lettuce

night sounds

over sounds of us

with background music playing

croakers croak louder

beachcomber

the ebb of ideas

no output, not a problem

the tide keeps flowing

barnacle

Some nights are hard.

ivy, my dear

scratch around poison

bubbling on skins surface

from tiny green leaves

Sunday

we rest on the day

recuperate energy

soaking in the sun

work phone

waiting for the phone

to install a new update

while birds chirp outside

priority

when I was little

my ice cream flavor of choice

was strawberry, pink

lumber jack

we associate

the smell of death with newness

cut trees in the yard

a break on cleaning day

a blend of spearmint and green tea

a swirl of honey from a local apiary

holding the mug under your nose

blocking out the smell of bleach

the sky is a strange color, the geese think so too

the night sky is blue
bright blue like a film made dark
geese honk from the bog

in the cards

let me be the one

white turkey feathered one

let me peck the soil

truth

Okay, I'm tired.

I just learned about that boat,

the big one, you know.

run off

take my cut, my take

my portion, a donation

let the water run

reckoning

moments made open

tucked between the light and dark

questions the sunrise

crackle

let the world crackle

contracting and expanding

like flowers in bloom

let's wonder

I wonder, are you

thinking of me as much as

I am wishing so

greenery

we are all tired

we are all trying our best

we are blades of grass

moss

in a dream with you

the spinning will not stop us

from discovery

heart

escape with my heart

pathetic in your big hands

red with blood and clay

date

movie night with you

and a big bowl of popcorn

your arm around me

hold

hold me upside down

count the reps and feel the burn

let me go. repeat.

wait

take pause and look up

growth will take repetition

a covered pathway

force

hot skin, pink cheeks burn

sweat smell mixed with 3am

and sleep disturbed

darker

wrapped up in light

incapable of feeling

for the door handle

attention

so we all want to

want a little attention

but not ask for it

shovel

don't open me up

crack the shell to see inside

it's all just dried leaves

extrovert

an endless scroller

desperate for some feel good

through the dirt and grass

drunk people should not try to make tea

at a party once

someone melted a kettle -

an electric one

bright

on both feet today

two hips to the beat and back

the sun is shining

meditation

force yourself to stop

deep breathing in, out, in, out

and wait for the sun

crush

if he wrote poems

about your curves and edges

would that be creepy?

lunch

ate a burrito

i made out of leftovers 

for breakfast at noon

kiss

collaboration

between lines between hot lips

overlooking snow

temp

multiple layers

to combat temperatures

fluxuation

ku

morning with myself

a hot cup of tea with milk

And upset stomach

hai

I say yes to the

torrent of emotion tied to

a diagnosis

something I do

Someone told me to write

My too-big-feeling feelings down

On small bits of paper

And burn them or throw them away

As a way to see the big feeling, name it

Then let it go, let it evaporate.

Someone told me this is what she does.

I didn't want to burn my feelings

So what if I wrote them down

Or origami paper

And turned them into cranes?

I walked to the store from my office

To get popcorn kernels for my husband.

There's a particular kind he says 

Pop bigger and they weren't there

When he went last. 

On my way back to my office

I remembered the art store.

Walked in and bought

Two packs of origami paper

One with designs visible

And one just white.

The white ones are for painting

With water colors before folding

And I thought I wouldn't end up

Using the white ones at all.

So I fold a couple birds a week

All colorful and filled with worries.

This is something I do now.

Tonight someone passed away

And I found an important use

For the blank white paper.

A white crane sits on the dining room table.

chocolate chips

A day filed under success

Ends with a cup of decaf tea

And a handful of milk chocolate chips

From a secret bag 

Stashed in a drawer

Filled with cupcake papers

And expired rainbow sprinkles

inside

written in sharp pencil
inside the wings of a paper crane

fears exposed in graphite
for no one to see.

he says

this is our morning - the alarm goes off
on his side of the bed. he sleeps facing west.

he rises his torso and says "stop" to the robot
that lives inside the display. she stops.

i stir. he turns and speaks, but i can't understand
because my ears are still asleep. my eyes stuck closed.

"wha?" i lift myself and he says "i love you."
and i say "oh" and then "i love you too" and after 16 years

it just occurs to me this morning
that the first thing he says to me each day

is "i love you" and i wonder how long he's been doing that
and i feel both careless and adored as i bang my head on the wall

while trying to get my slippers on so I can feed that cats.

Magic

I am catogorically

a kitchen witch. 

My wand is a wooden spoon

Interchangeable with a rubber spatula.

My spell books are filled

With easy to find ingredients

And detailed instructions

That are easy to misunderstand

Without experience 

And familiarity with tools of the craft.

The results, the creations,

Have turned cold hearts

Into pursed lips, sighs of satisfaction,

Strangers in submission to my powers

Of confections. Wielded with precision 

and always for a price. 

Always a fair price. 

in the WINS column of 2020

A year ago, I had an idea of what today would look and feel like for me. It's completely different from what I imaged. I am completely different from who I was a year ago. We all are, whether we acknowledge it or not.

There have been so many LOSES this year.

Lives and livelihoods. Routines and traditions. 

So I wanted to take some time to focus on my personal wins. This is a simple but difficult exercise for me. This is an important exercise for me. I do not want to forget this year, or write it off entirely.

My WINS column of 2020

There's a Podcast All Right. In August of 2019 I bulldozed my way into the lives of Goldie & Janna. I love them both so much, and they let me! In February, we launched our Twin Peaks podcast. We've published 27 episodes (a few of them are just trailers, but heck, I'm counting them!). We've gotten over 2,500 unique downloads. Getting a little bit of attention is one thing, but what has become more valuable to me is the connection with two incredible people through a shared passion. Recording sessions with Goldie & Janna have become a mental and emotional anchor for me throughout this seriously wild year. I've also learned a lot about the process of recording, editing, publishing, and publicizing a podcast. It's involved. And it's rewarding.

Hyde Came to Cape Cod. Our friend of 16 years came to celebrate his birthday with us this year. It was his first visit to Cape Cod and it was an absolute joy! We got to treat him to his first taste of real New England Clam Chowder. We got to treat him to a special birthday dinner out and crepes mille birthday cake. He's the only Twin Peaks family we got to see this year in person and I am BEYOND grateful that he got to come here in February. Love you, Bryan! 

Couch to 5k and beyond. In June, while Ryan was upping his marathon training, I decided to make a positive change for myself. I was partly inspired, no joke, by the Netflix show The Floor is Lava. I watched regular people in decent shape have a hell of a lot of fun on a goofy tv show and I wanted so much to be part of it. Or at least, I wanted to be capable of being part of it. So I downloaded a podcast series called Couth to 5K, published by the NHS. My only goal was to get out the door. I followed instructions and in 9 weeks I was able to comfortably run 30 minutes. Within a couple months from then I could run 3 to 5 miles 3 times a week with comfort and have done so ever since. I have even run 6 miles a couple times and have a 7 mile route planned. It feels so good to be able. And as a side effect, I've lost 20 pounds from March to now. Special mention here of my dear friend Nicole, who inspired me to run without headphones too, which has become a real blessing all of its own.

One Perfect Dinner. I woke up one morning in early September with a craving for biryani. I conspired with Ana-Maria about my craving. I shared my fantasy to pick up food at Ryan and my favorite local Indian restaurant chain, Shanti, and show up at the Belanders' backyard to share the bounty in exchange for safely distanced company and mocktails. It was, like I said, a fantasy. But Ana-Maria, Ryan, Landers, they were all in for it. The day and time would work. We were all healthy, all cautious. The restaurant was near enough to their backyard. The weather was agreeable. I found parking. The woman was bringing my order out of the back as I walked in to collect it. She complimented my hair. The drinks Landers made went perfectly with the flavors spread out around the table in plastic containers, still warm. The conversation was lively and we were all graced with leftovers from the meal. It went PERFECTLY. Like a dream. And in contrast to every other plan we've tried to make and execute this year. I will forever remember the joy I felt in accomplishment that night. The bravery in expressing my fantasy.

Grief Group. On November 2nd I learned that a dear friend from graduate school was on hospice care at home. Four of us that were close to her arranged to chat that Thursday. We knew there wasn't much time and we knew that we would need each other. Jenni passed away on November 4th. I found out on the 5th. I am forever grateful that we had that chat scheduled already. I lost Jenni, but I won Beth, Nicole, and Katey all over again. They have become my grief support group and so so so much more. I love you ladies SO MUCH.

Animal Crossing: New Horizons. Okay, yep. This is a video game. But it's not just a video game. I made new friends through playing it, and have been staying in touch with Faye most regularly through the game. I am so grateful to Nintendo for creating a place for me to escape to when I most need it. And for creating a tune for me to hum when the anxiety is so bad I can feel it filling my chest. I hum it A LOT. It's my inner-song. That is such a gift. 

Mesdames des Macarons. My little company turned 10 years old in Nov/Dec of 2020. To celebrate, and because I was not going to be able to sell at the one market we usually have around our "birthday", I completely changed my business model this year. I used new tools (google forms and square) to set up a Macaron of the Month Club. Thanks to the help and support of Mary, I was able to rejuvenate the company after a long seven months of not baking at all. It turned out to be a nice way to celebrate and has gone really smoothly aside from most Christmas orders getting shuffled in the mail due to COVID. This change and my company go in the win column because I so easily could have let it sit out, let it fade, let it escape me. Instead, I innovated. I'm proud of that.

All Elite Wrestling. Okay, yep. This is a wrestling promotion. This goes in the win column for 2020 because so few routines held up this year. Fortunately for us, we picked the right sport to watch. Every Tuesday and Wednesday night this year, I could reliably settle in for a couple of hours or more and let most of the real world wash away while I watched hot bodies with beautiful minds beat each other up and flip over each other for my entertainment. And what a great group of accepting, talented, and wonderful people I have found to admire from this company. I will be forever grateful. Having discovered Abadon, Lance Archer, Ricky Starks, Top Flight, and many more this year, is part of this win. 

There are so many KEEPS in 2020 too. There are a lot of things and people that have stayed with me this year. Some of them has strengthened. These are kind of like honorable mentions... Ryan, Alli, Rowdy, Daniella, Liz, Erin, Kelly, Jason, Faye & Hawkins, Shane & Sheila, my family (though it's freaking complicated), work (though that's even more complicated), my house/home, Caitlin (my pen pal!), Michelle, Becki, my Twin Peaks family, my WW family, my Gustare family (some of the coolest teenagers I have *ever* met, I met this year), and there are more, for sure. Everyone who's stayed in touch with me, shared with me, checked up on me. Thank you all so so so so much. I love you so so so much.

tired is

trying to express your level of fatigue 
without coopting, appropriating, comparing.

trying to measure trauma against normal,
while normal breaks, fractures, disintegrates.

caffeinating. passé. or past its sell by date.

hitting the refresh symbol expecting something
to happen this time. the 200th time.

writing it down. 
in couplets. 

i am working on something hidden

some(most)times, the work in progress
shows here. in this space.

other(few)times, it is hidden deep
in the pathways between the heart and the head.

and when it is ready, the poet will take off her mask.

press

press past the crust
into the core of the earth

with your bare feet
on a mat made of soft pvc

that could kill a roaming sea turtle
in search of its dinner.

find your heart center
and imagine being as flexible

as the woman on your laptop screen
or having a room in your home

that had a wall as empty
or a floor as clean as her

made for youtube backdrop.
don't let your mind wander.

press your big toes
into the future

and try not to imagine
where exactly the opposite side

of the globe is and what kind of
sandwich you could make

with the stranger on the other side.
focus on breathing.

press your palms down
to the bottom of the water table

which you know isn't so deep
after last spring's flood

and breath in while you gently push
the cat off the mat

where your feet are supposed to go
and breath out while you give up

on moving the cat off the mat.
the cat is your heart center.

you found it. sit down
and pet it until it purrs

and the lady on your laptop
is in the savasana pose.

breath and press into your day.

fasting

day dreaming about the grocery store
about buying bread, jelly, and peanut butter
to keep in a desk drawer at my office
and wondering, would the jelly keep?

economy

see a surge in

free wood after a storm

farm fresh chicken eggs

still five dollars

per dozen

out of the warm cooler

on the side

of a road

that

to get at

pull in to someone's

gravel driveway

and leave the engine running

leave the cash 

in a mason jar

the metal lid

cut and rusted

so once the money goes in

it doesn't come out

no making change

leave with four dozen

leftovers

a silver sedan

parked in the eco lot

near the airport

goes unnoticed

into the third week

passed planned

unchecked

keys packed in the luggage

unclaimed at security

with the name

of the recently 

deceased 

printed in barcode

on a sticky

white label

cranberry harvest

the sun beam doesn't glisten
off one particular spot

not locked by coordinates
it rides the waves down each gap

in the growth of the cranberry bog
as the harvesters flood it

sequence gap

performance paused
for a deep breath

before the world ends
let's hold hands

and stare up at the moon
until we see double

occupying the vacancies
filling the ocean with lava

solidifying our end
as we become rocks

like punctuation marks
on our own history

robots writing poetry

looking for inspiration, I asked the internet
and found a "random poem generator"

that wasn't random at all, but a series of pages
filled with empty fields for me to fill in...

suggest a noun. 
the website suggests something like "sea" or "book"

because that's what all poems are actually about.
they're never about loose pamphlets the wind blew onto the floor

that were then trampled over by some unaware, sandal-wearing
dad with two pairs of prescription glasses hanging

from his $60 v-neck t-shirt with a tiny hole in the chest
from where the cat used him as a parkour platform

to better catch a month after he'd only had the shirt
two days.

give a hint.
so that the robots can better identify your noun

when looking it up online. because the robots
also don't know anything really, it's all stored away

and like us they have to retrieve it from somewhere
just like we do with our phones while we're sat

around a summer camp fire trying to remember
the name of the women who played the villain

in the latest power rangers movie.
Elizabeth Banks.

i got board and decided to write my own poem instead.
how could none of us remember Elizabeth Banks?

American. National. Treasure.
Elizabeth. "That is Mahogany!" Banks.

reading your heart

reading your poems
devouring them

understanding the pain
not because i have felt it

in my life, so charmed,
but i have felt it come

through your words
the shards swallowed

the callouses formed
around your sensitive parts

and i wonder if the words you wrote
really did heal you, even just a little bit

because i feel fuller, healed
and strong from your words

i want to give some back to you
to create a dramatic

woman healing woman
feedback loop.

heart

who do i cry to
about how heavy
it feels inside this spell
of silence?
who hasn't heard it before,
the moaning of uncertain
outcomes?
how not hearing from you
can make me dread
the vacation I'm taking
that up until two days before
i was excited for... because
i don't want to leave you
like this...

a new rules of lemons

micro-plane little curls of 

yellow peel, sweet with bitterness

down to the white, then slice

in half, ready to squeeze

in a vice designed specifically

for yellow fruit, the size of a lemon

the juices bursting out everywhere

in tiny droplets, pulp pushing out 

of the little holes in the vice until

the scent of lemon rules the room.

herd

we are the deer neck-deep
in your neighborhood swimming pool

our antlers up, ears twitching
listening to you argue about what to do

to get ride of us without hurting us
and wondering if we know how to use the stairs

while the biggest bucks are dancing
around the small herd of white tails

escaping the heat and the bear
that's coming up behind you.

rough days

Rough days. They happen. Today was one of them. It feels like the world is smaller. Its gravity is stronger. The consequences more severe. The pain more real. A quick cry in the car. Go lie on the floor of my friend’s new apartment and wait for more friends to arrive. I ramble cryptically. Offer one of the people around me half of my life. We negotiate down to one third. My partner takes me home. I step away, be alone. When I resurface, he’s at the bottom of the stairs awkwardly holding a very full, hot cup of tea.

tea

tea finds its way into our writing our poetry our drabbles liquid capable of conquering empires raising dynasties giving birth to war that inspired the child to invent a language and pursue love that stains an old pot by the kettle by the sink waiting to be filled and poured out into perfect cups poured out over perfect conversations like the poet leaning over the back of a lounge yearning to find the words for the magic that no one has yet to put together just the right way that stirs the heart like milk in a cup of tea

continued

poetry month continues
bleeds into a drabble a day
like one cup of tea turns into two
because i haven't finished this book
that a friend gave me
that her friend wrote
and wrote beautifully, if i might say so
so i do say. it makes my heart
pound feel realer. heavier. truer.

journey

That evening she sat staring at the incredible, abundant, extravagant beauty her friends, family, neighbors, and acquaintances had delivered to her. Still unsure of why and wondering what to do with so many flowers and plants, she wept. Tears that overwhelmed her. What love was this? What motivation did so many people have to visit and wish her well. What journey they spoke of… and slowly her heart swelled. It takes time for the spirit of a human to understand. To comprehend. The journey she was taking was one she would never be able to share with them. The living.

mysterious

All day friends stopped by her home. The first arrived at 7:26 am on her way to work. With flowers. Each of them who could come themselves dropped off a small bouquet or potted plant. Three different flower delivery vans came by that day, each dropping off multiple gifts. The day went on and on. Visitor after visitor coming by, saying hello, sharing love and well wishes, then vanishing, leaving flowers in their wake. It wasn’t her birthday, it wasn’t a holiday, she wasn’t grieving or celebrating anything that she knew of. But someone had planned this. A mysterious day.

drabblers' condition

drabblers' condition is a minor ailment derived from the self-imposed rule that one must compose and post one new drabble every day in the month of may. the condition lies dormant until the drabbler becomes either lazy, overwhelmed, or uninspired; thereby missing one day of continuous composition and posting. drabblers afflicted with this condition have two courses of action in which to alleviate the condition. one, one can simply carry on, pretending no days have gone missed. or two, compose an extra drabble the next day and pretend no days of gone missed. this condition only occurs in may.

form

when composing a drabble one might consider form. however, the limitation of composing something consisting of exactly 100 words is in itself a form. one may argue that the limitation directs or informs the form of the composition.

however, again, a drabbler may chose any form or layout that they chose.

one may present their 100 words in a standard paragraph form.

and yet another
may present a series

of couplets. and so
it is agreed upon

that the form of a drabble is fluid and defined outside of the word count parameters. one may and should use any form.

contents

contents may vary from drabble to drabble.

some drabbles may be sweet ruminations on the budding spring time while others may be bemoaning mini tirades on one's swollen sinuses and watery eyes.

some drabbles may be quirky and allusive while others are direct and poignant.

some drabbles may contain references to revolutions fought, fighting, or to be fought while others are mere meandering flights of fancy like fantastic tiny journeys on the backs of bumble bees.

still yet other drabbles may reveal themselves to be nothing more than instructions on fixing the perfect snack.

but they all stir the heart.

procedure

1. open word counting tool. (bookmark or download one if you haven't already.)
2. poor a hot cup of trader joe's mint watermelon tea. (product placement. send back up tins, this stuff is delicious!)
3. begin composition.
3a. think of a word or a place.
3b. begin to ruminate on said word or place.
(different drabblers may have different techniques when it comes to inspiration)
3c. type out your thoughts in your word counter.
4. begin to panic that you either a) have written too many words or b) have a perfect little poem at 85 words.
5. edit profusely.

definition

In order to complete the task, the task must first be defined.

In May, the task is to compose drabbles. To engage in drabbling. Defined here:

Noun.

A drabble is a piece of writing consisting of exactly 100 words.

Fiction. Nonfiction. Poetry. Prose.

Example: I will write one drabble every day in the month of May.

Verb.

To drabble is to compose a piece of writing consisting of exactly 100 words.

Fiction. Nonfiction. Poetry. Prose.

Example: I am drabbling every day in the month of May.

The task is to create one drabble every day of the Month of May.

grumble mug

grumbling into my mug of
muddy decaffeinated tea

[it's been enhanced by sugars
and fats from various sources]

grumbling to myself because
no one else is here

and no one else would care
[probably] or at least

not enough to respond
with anything helpful

so grumble away, me.
grumble all day as long

as the work gets done.

personal nimbus

you oppressive cloud
rung out over me

casting across all my paths,
if i ignore you

will you get worse
or go away?

the muscle fibers caught up

reaching out to wrap
an arm around another

lips pulled back in a smile
or turned down in a pout

rushing from one gate
to another to catch a flight

or pulling himself up
out of a chair after a nap

the stretch of muscle
is visible under skin

and we're all caught up
in the motions of the flexing

and relaxing

the green river girl

there's a girl, the green river girl.
i invented her.

at first, she was just a pleasantry
an imaginary friend

to the girl inside me named something
who i invented so she could write poems,

but then the green river girl grew up
fed off the grief and fear of losing my pa.

she siphoned my turmoil, my sadness,
and spread it out across the valleys

of the Pacific Northwest of America.
she planted seeds all around this place

where i trek once a year
knowing I'd keep coming back

and eventually see the blossoms
of what she planted for me here.

today we - me, something, and the green river girl -
took the familiar trail down to the bottom

of the falls we stare at for long periods of time
to remember and honor all our past feelings

and today i recognized the fruits and flowers
that were planted a decade ago

by the green river girl, weighed down as she is,
by rocks and sadness, and stuck here forever

in these trees and this water, green and strong.

my phone has a microphone, i dropped my phone, i dropped a mic, did i drop the mic?

i did.
didn't i?
yeah, i did.

driving rain

car parts break or fault
houses made of wood will leak

and we keep trekking forward
through the driving rain

reattached

stitched back together
with wax covered thread

by a weak needle
and shaking fingers

but with the kind of care
that makes up

for lack of knowledge
or practice

and stays reattached
even in rough weather

wide screen

i have a wide screen
computer monitor at work

and the bottom of the screen
(it's 25" (i measured it))

is covered edge to edge
with little post it notes

(the 2" square ones
(i measured those too))

some are stuck three long
one on top of another

on top of another.
they are reminders

of what must be done.
a colorful to-do list

across the bottom
of my wide screen monitor.

air

i did something to water
something that upset it

so all the liquids i interacted with
did their best to drip

splash

spill

overflow

spray

so much so that i felt
much like a soggy squirrel

flapping my tail
most of the day

water was not my element
but then i'm air anyway

at least that's what Ajia thinks
she told me when i complained

about my water problem
while water splashed up

from the basin of the sink
and soaked into the apron i'd put on

for protection

either way.

stand up. stop. if you have toes, can you feel them? stand still. wiggle them. how many do you have? if a whale and a deer are related by a type of hip bone, do you buy the purple flowers or the yellow ones to make the wet deer happy? either way, they were both picked. wiggle your toes again. how many do you have? i have ten. i have had ten for quite a while now. a while, a long time, a life time, all relative to the short line at the locally owned coffee place that only has five kinds of milk.

cherry blossom bandit

no one suspected
the big grey goose

with the bright orange beak
was capable

of such heinous
criminality

alas, he had a tendency
to rob local shops

of their cherry blossom
flavored baked goods

during the busy festival
in spring

puddle skipper

a fish out of water
would die

i'm much more like
a squirrel in a deep puddle

the meaning of tired

the word tired
describes how i feel
most of the time

tired is a little word
but this little word
has many meanings

such as i stayed out
too late last night
and regret it a little now

or i do the same things
over and over and over
and see no end in sight

sometimes it means
do i have to do this again
didn't i do this yesterday?

it can mean chocolate
where is the chocolate
i am going to need chocolate

or it can mean i ate
too much chocolate
even though that seems impossible

or wondering why the heck
recreational fishing
seems like a relaxing idea

when actually it's really
mean to trick a fish
and totally ruin its day

tired can also mean
i feel like i've seen
this show before

it must be a repeat
or i've been watching
too much reality tv

it can mean wearing
the same shoes
for six months

tired can mean
the sun is warm
through the window

so today i am staying home
with the cats and eating
more chocolate

lookbook emotions

today i am wearing
motivated

to match my new
confident

yesterday i wore
confused

with a bright and beautiful
frustrated

two weeks ago
i sported this really cute
angry

later today i will put on
my best
tired

when the weather warms up
i'll be riding around in
my favorite pair of
distracted

and when fall hits
we'll all wrap ourselves up
in the warmest
sad

until the holidays
happen upon us
and we put on our
holly
jolly
depressed

but disguise it with
chocolate and marshmallow themed
happy

pocket full of lumens

what kind of world
where he can

walk around all day

with a pocket full of lumens

more than 10 million pixels

if we count the sub ones

10 million of anything

is reason enough

for a purse

three truths

fizzle

in one hand i spin one plate

that holds cute pens and stickers

in another hand i spin another plate 

that holds social media apps - 

facebook, instagram, 

the twitter accounts i never check

from one foot i spin yet another 

that holds excel, quickbooks, zimba

balanced on my nose i spin a plate 

that wobbles because it holds the most delicate balance 

- the balance between answering the phone

 and taking a bite of lunch

blue anyway

a sky, blue and clear,
let down candy floss
snow flakes

wind gusts swirled
the soft flakes
like a magician

causing eyes to dart
and hearts to feel
a sensation like wonder

a curious urge
to move with the wind
and become part of the scene

feet flit on gravel
and the world is full
and her eyes awake

ready for more wonders
more contradictions
and anomalies of nature

under a sky so blue
in a storm that moves
so much and yet

calm prevails

tried and tried

i think she's dead now,

but it's hard

to get a straight forward answer
from her sometimes.

i had tried,

and this was years ago,

to help her.

i tried talking to her, sending care packages,
hundreds of dollars,

until she got sloppy,
and i caught her lying.

i felt like a fool.

but i tried to talk to her,
tried to get her help,
but she didn't want real help.

at least, not from me.

so i lost her.

i had to lose her.

and now completely.

completely lost.

winter wanderer

boot prints disrupt the snow
in zigs and zags

a meandering tracker
chasing day dream fancies

while avoiding branches
weighed down by fresh snow

the puck

driven across a flooded and frozen bog
the puck glides, bumps, jumps, and swerves

a kid in a green jersey rushes after it
falls and slides towards it, laughing

other kids skate around him like a swarm
they can't find the puck, does he have it?

he keeps laughing, uncontrollably,
giddy from the fun on the ice.

in the background his sister falls.
she's just learning how to skate.

in two months she'll be better than him
at his favorite sport, and he won't mind.