It’s 4 am. I wake up to the sound
of a little voice asking to come into bed;
she can’t sleep alone anymore tonight.
She doesn’t know that it’s already morning,
to be fair, it is still dark outside. My sweet
little girl snuggles into place, taking my pillow, my covers,
my rest. Little knees start making their way
into my boney back and my soft sides. Gingerly, I attempt
to crawl out of bed, but I land on a leg and a foot and my cat
who I know is glaring at me in the darkness and stillness of 4 am.

I make my way to the shower to rinse off and start my day.
The morning goes as usual: sitting and staring off into space
when I should be moving on to the next step in a line of
thousands of daily to-dos.
Eyes: make-upt. Hair: pinned into place. Teeth: brushed
(no, I didn’t floss…but my turbo brush does say “built in flossers”).
Body: clothed. Stomach: fed.
Husband: doing all of the other to-dos
(he does these so much better than me).
Daughter: still asleep in my bed.

At work, life is a buzz. Students walking busily
to and from classes. Teachers rushing to the office
to make those copies they thought were already finished.
Some say hello as they pass; some keep their eyes shifted
down on their feet or their phones. My gait is quick as I clip
clop my way to my room. I am welcomed by stacks of books
and papers and yesterday’s lecture notes still scribbled on the
board. Soon my students will arrive and the day fun will really begin.
By the bell — we submit to increments of minutes and hours, not
nearly enough to get it all done,
but our valiant attempts won’t be thwarted.
The words of great writers fill my room so full it might burst:
Shakespeare, Bronte, Alexie, Tennyson, Morrison, Woolf,
Douglass, Conrad, Gilman, Wiesel, Rhys,
Dante, Dumas, Fitzgerald, Achebe, Plath,
the list goes on and on. Papers scribed with insights, ponderings,
persuasions, and questions ubiquitously cross my desk.
Taking part in the global discussion of humanity is
noble but tiring. I go home so rich with love
and fulfillment that the pockets
of my heart overflow.

My day ends as it began, at my other home with those who share
my last name. We eat. We clean. We talk. We laugh.
We love. We sleep – until that little voice
wakes me again so she can be wrapped in my blankets
and my arms.


593a7d19addd64980c195c05271dc9c0e3You guys…it’s almost Friday! (Just in case you weren’t aware). Now, I’m not saying I’m “living for the weekend,” but coming back to work from a week-long vacation (like I did on Monday) is like trying to step on a treadmill moving at full speed…with the hill option ramped to the maximum. Needless to say…I am excited that it is Thursday. I will be even more excited tomorrow.

#thankgoditsthursday (yes, I am aware that those don’t work on this site…but how else am I supposed to cleverly let you know what TGIT is?).


On my way to work today, I saw a gardener
clipping branches from a tree,
and it made me think of you fondly.
I thought of your smile and the funny way
you said my name. I thought of the smiles
you gave and the glances you stole. I thought
of the songs you sang and the lies you told.

Branch after branch, clipped and fallen
Blossom after blossom, snipped and forgotten

As I turned the wheel and the head of a passerby,
I thought to myself it is better this way,
So I reached in my heart, like the gardener with
his shears and clipped out your pieces
then dried all my tears.





You felt it too? I thought it was just me

who kept getting butterflies every time

you said something. Breath in, look up —

be casual, stay calm; it’s just a mere enchantment,

a simple fascination, a flitting desire.

Yet my heart’s metronome, an unyielding tempo,

beats in presto form — the symphony of your

words enthralls me and leaves me wanting —

Breath out — look down. Like a common cold,

This will pass.

Ok friendly readers, do you think it should be “Breath in…Breath out” as it is now or does “Breathe in…Breathe out” sound better? Thanks for your input!




High Line NYC

Lost so poorly in my thoughts, I reach for you,
but your noodle arms have hardened
against the chill of the wind
and my indifference. Once boiled, twice
left in the cold. Feathered in your wings
I thought I was safe, but your shifting,
jilting heart leaves me falling.

Tattered shadows drape over me: enfolding
all those parts I once exposed to you. Pride–
the thing that struck us down– peeks out from behind
your eyes, so treacherous and dark, obscuring my heart’s
remembrance of yours. Your words, no more. Your love is


Princess Trogdor


A mighty huntress you are

Proud and nimble

Sly and assertive

Always ready for a spar.

Quiet and still,

Your presence made known

Only by the things you leave behind

(feathers, lizard tails, matted tufts of hair)

Status: triumphant: 21 – nil.

Soft, dainty steps

Treading over body and cushion

Kneading, stabbing, searching

For the perfect place to rest

Only to discover, the top

Of the couch, such a solitary place

Away from annoyances and harm,

Feels quite like home — sunken in, soft, and warm.

FullSizeRender-1A note from the crazy cat lady: Princess Trogdor (a.k.a. kitty) is the name of my long-haired, bipolar cat (perhaps that’s a bit redundant to call a cat bipolar…but I felt it necessary for emphasis). If you’re thinking “Trogdor, now where did I hear that name before…” You must be a fellow geek or nerd (or whatever fits most appropriately here); you probably used your time wisely in college as I did…watching funny videos on homestarrunner.com. Trogdor, the burninator, is indeed the name of StrongBad’s drawing of a dragon. There’s a song…you might want use your time wisely and go watch it.


My Happy Place


A rush of excitement overcomes me

As an elderly, green-blazered gentleman

Hands me my sticker. He welcomes me

With his weathered smile that

Says “have a nice day.”

I am met with sprawling green lawns

And white columned buildings

Bursting with priceless treasure.

Everything within me smiles:

My eyes grinning from lash to lash.

My skin beaming from fingers to toes.

My mouth exposes my cheerful teeth

That refuse to be hidden behind my glossed lips.

I drink in the fragrances:

The Gardens,

The Grounds,

The Art hanging on the walls.

The aroma is intoxicating

And I am magically removed from the mundane.

Transcendence found in the Beauty molded by God and by man.