It Is Long

We make homes in the most unlikely of places. I am never where I thought I might be,  would never want to be where I thought I might be. Because time has a… Continue reading

On What Grows

There is nothing that changes what we do now. We’re so far flung from that orbit it doesn’t even make sense to talk about it, to use comparisons, to think of one another… Continue reading

On A Train

In the morning everything is grey, and kissing you near the harbor now feels like a month ago. I could not tell you everything that passes by in a train window. Make a… Continue reading

On The Oranges

There is an orange tree outside and you tell me that, I have never noticed it. But, it’s right outside the window and their pops of color seem to me to have preordained… Continue reading

On Walking

There is something distinct in me that approves of walking. It feels as if the world is in its proper place and I could not imagine to be someone other than who I… Continue reading

One Month, Maybe Three

We’re less than ourselves half the time. I am stretched thin and the flowers have already begun to fade. I suppose it is the constant awareness of aging that makes us feel as… Continue reading

With The Lights On

I want to talk about what you don’t talk about when the lights are still on. In the Las Vegas airport I am sitting at a Dolly Parton slot machine, eating mentos and… Continue reading

For A Time

For a time I was afraid of you, like if I came to write I might not like what I have to say, worse off I have been worried for months now that… Continue reading

On Your Fingertips

It is easy to forget there is blood beneath your fingertips, until you cut them open.  Also on the list of things I never think about, because they are so deeply imbedded into… Continue reading

Like I Used To

I just don’t write like I used to. Whoever said you don’t have to be in pain to be a good writer has never really been in pain before. Or I’ve just never… Continue reading

On The Water

It’s been raining a lot here in California and it makes everything seem a little more mysterious to me. And we say it’s because of the rain and the cold and the thin… Continue reading

It Doesn’t Snow Here

It was Joan Didion’s birthday yesterday. She titled an entire collection, We Tell Ourselves Stories In Order To Live. She is always true. There are those stories we tell to others when we meet… Continue reading

Like You’re Leaving

I’m thinking about being somewhere hot and I’m wearing the red skirt you like. There are bells down the street that fall into the same kind of rhythm in which you speak.  … Continue reading

What It Isn’t

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn’t be.… Continue reading

Constructing Your Scaffolding

We never stop taking cargo on board, never stop adjusting, stop repurposing what we have. We make do and we come out the other side, paper cranes of the person we were before.… Continue reading