• kids playing in surf
    Motherhood

    Punctuation

    I am not taking myself as seriously anymore. I mean, I am. Let’s face it, I’m a Capricorn. But I’m trying not to. If everything is a constant bid to better myself, it is a contest in which I am always the loser and the prize always sits on the horizon, barely distinguishable in the haze. I’m not even sure what it is, that prize. So fuck that noise. I’m tired. I have two children now. The last time I sat down here to write, I only had one rambunctious one-year-old. Now I have a two-and-a-half-year-old and a seven-month-old (surprise!). I fell asleep one night and suddenly it’s been years…

  • Alcohol and Sobriety,  Motherhood

    Eight Years

    I have been sober eight years. That is long enough that now I have to count to figure it out. How many years has it been? Well, how old is the cat? She was born between then and my sister’s wedding, so… Sometimes I count on my fingers. I don’t go to meetings anymore. I stopped a few days before the baby was born last year, and just haven’t been back. This wasn’t a conscious decision. My precious little free time doesn’t seem to land when I have the freedom to go, and anyways, drinking sounds like the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to have to…

  • Family Dynamics,  the Paradox,  This is Me

    Liminal Spaces

    Am I asleep? Or am I awake? The infant in my arms is almost six months old. He is both lithe and solid, a convergence of contradictions for a baby. Usually he writhes with wiry energy, just like his papa, but now it is close to nap time, and he is still. Binky firmly in his mouth–a new habit (the habits they come and go without warning)–he stares off into the distance, saucer-like brown eyes absorbing the cool energy of the blue room. Yes, his eyes are brown, the opposite of mine. Everything about my son is the opposite of me, from his worried brow line to his muscular limbs. Am…

  • Fiction/Poetry

    there yet

    it is murky though I rub at my eyes it doesn’t help because I am submerged in fact which way is even up did I dive down here myself why is it so hard to move where am I why am I what happened I knew but I didn’t know there there it is sludgy muck but enough to touch my toes a quick squelch a bit of pressure almost effortless because there is no there there am I moving again the murk remains but yes it’s dissipating granules sifting away shapes take shape shadows ahead that loom like either whales or unknown beasts of the deep

  • Fiction/Poetry

    women

    fold yourself up like a wee origami box delicate and lovely pink azaleas sketched on only the exterior once you’re as wee as you can make yourself fold yourself in half again and again and again until we can’t see you especially can’t hear you you may threaten to burst but don’t and remain pretty and easy and light

  • Family Dynamics,  This is Me

    Roar

    I haven’t had much to say the past few months. I have had so much to say the past few months. Sometimes it comes pouring out of my mouth like ectoplasm, provoked by the social outrage of the day, or just the day-to-day drama of being a human woman during the 21st century. racism sexism gun-violence police brutality the donald democratic primary friendships self-worth money everything Or I suppose I just imagine it that way, a film of unholy outpourings, because pregnancy has cautioned me to hush. If I were to express thoughts or feelings I would surely spiral into madness. So I say nothing. I have been hyperaware, yet this has not served me.…

  • breeze
    Fiction/Poetry

    Isolation–A Poem

    The chasm between us widens With every sip you take I’ve always been separate, though Stalking silently Through this life It’s not you, it’s me Splitting through at the center Over something so ordinary It’s hardly worth mentioning Except until it is So I stay on my side of the gap And not bother you with me This fractured human With too much human Who walks alone Apart

  • Fiction/Poetry

    The Source

    Raise your candle so we can see Your heart gazing through the flame Lift the cup to your lips in prayer A communion of ecstasy   Ride the back of uncertainty Though it tries to shake you off I’ll meet you at the journey’s end And embrace you with fervency   Night may darken too soon of course You may count on nothing else But keep the hope in your heart lit full For it’s there we find our source

  • Family Dynamics,  This is Me

    This New Person

    I don’t feel like a mother yet. Some people feel like they’re born to be mothers; I was never one of those people. My desire for children was more complicated than that. We felt the baby’s first kicks at week eighteen. It was pretty surreal, to feel that faint flutter of life for the first time. After a large meal consisting of burgers and milkshake, what felt like delicate bubbles popping began to tickle my full middle. My husband, his hand serendipitously on my belly for an affectionate pat, felt it first, even before I did. This doesn’t surprise me. “I just felt it kick!” he exclaimed. “No, you didn’t,…

  • This is Me

    Life and What Comes After

    I sit here on the couch, and I don’t know what to do. I had planned to use the pool at the nearby gym, a respite from the unrelenting heat. But I forgot what I needed for swimming. There are my goggles right there, right next to me, where I set them after pulling them out of the cupboard. What else was I going to do? I can’t remember. Then it hits me–I will need to change my shoes. I need to be wearing flip-flops. Flip-flops for the pool, ones that I won’t mind getting all squishy and squeaky with chlorinated water. This dress is okay to wear, but something…

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