Stars

The stars have been old for so many years. Balls of burning hydrogen and helium, aged millennia before we humans started paying attention to them. Unblinking, unwavering. The map above our heads, the reminder of things beyond us, the grandeur and power and majesty. The silent symphony crescendos above our skulls, constant and unchanged. The space between the stars mirroring our fears, the shining bits of bright mirroring our hopes. The great blanket of twinkling sky reaching out the possibility of promise to us. Far reaches of light in a far-flung galaxy, steady pinpoints in the sky, leading us home.

drabble day 31: powers

people have super powers, they just don't recognize the power as, well, a power. for example, ana-maria always finds four, five, and sometimes seven leaf clovers. I've literally never found a four leaf clover ever. or take nathan. no one knows where nathan lives. it's a mystery. even his best best friends can't tell you his address. there's a man on the internet who posts videos of him playing piano for cats and they seem to always fall asleep on his lap. you can't tell me that's not magic. our real struggle is recognizing powers as powers at all.

drabble day 30: magic

mailboxes have magic. at least the ones around here, where i live, in new england, in what we refer to as suburbs, "thickly settled" villages. the kind of free standing mailboxes that reside at the end of drive ways. the kind with little red flags that, when stood at attention, lets the mail carrier know that something waits inside to be picked up and delivered. the kind of mailboxes that sometimes look like tiny houses or big fish. they all contain magic. they hold inside them wonder, wealth, bills, and acceptance letters. and sometimes they become homes to disguised princes.

drabble day 29: office plants

i water the plants in the office once a week. usually on monday. i keep my headphones in, work with the lights off, and ease my way into the work week. depending on the size of the planet, . i have an old bleach bottle and a big bowl to fill with water from the bathroom sink. from a desk orchid that I've gotten to bloom again, to palm trees that are twice my height, all the plants get a hello, a good morning, and a big gulp of water. very rarely do i move them around the office at all.

Taste

I just don’t understand it. Some people think cilantro is delicious and I tend to agree. Guacamole is just not the same without a bit of leafy green. White chicken chili benefits by the addition of the herb.

Other people think that cilantro tastes like soap.

I just don’t understand it. Some people think that chocolate is only improved upon by the addition of mint. Something about the cool mint against the smoothness of the chocolate. Something about how delicious mint is when swirled through ice cream.

I’ve decided I don’t like it when my ice cream tastes like toothpaste.

Cake

It’s hard to find the balance between the two philosophies. The one claiming that you shouldn’t eat the cake so that you feel good. The other claiming that you should eat the cake so that you feel happy. Why does there have to be a dichotomy like this? Why can’t we be good and happy at the same time? Why are these the only options we have? The magic eight ball doesn’t tell the day the story ends. Would I rather have a story filled with yes cake or no cake? If I’m being honest, I think I’d like both.

drabble day 28: guest

a good guest says please and thank you. ideally in the host's native language. a good guest takes their shoes off if the hosts takes their shoes off. a good guests offers to help clean up, and is gracious when the host refuses the help. a good guest brings dessert, even if the hosts says they don't need to bring anything. a good guest tastes the food before adding salt. a good guest askes where the bathroom is, even if they think they already know. i am trying to be a good guest on this beautiful spinning orb in space.

drabble day 27: alli

alli had a name change at about 10 months old. she'd been called alley. but anyone who knows alli knows that she is refined. fancy. she's no street cat. so when she moved in with us, we adjusted her name to better suite her style. her crossed paws. her big eyes. he disdain for grass and dirt. she likes to sleep on several blankets and watch television with her favorite human boy. she's regularly called princess. and she likes it. she also likes soft treats  and using all the steps to go both up and down. she is so alli.

Memorial

The hat was the crowning achievement of the whole ensemble. He wore a navy suit, a white dress shirt, and a red tie. But the hat. His mother tried to persuade him not to wear it. Yet it’s hard to reason with a seven-year-old. Especially when he loves the hat. Especially when it has his favorite player’s signature on it. Especially because it’s the hat his dad gave him right before he went off to Afghanistan. Veterans Day is to thank the living. Memorial Day is to remember those who have passed. His mother let him wear the baseball cap.

Listen

There are some sounds that are the small graces of life. The crack of crème brûlée with the promise of rich sweetness just moments away. The rush of water over the falls, constant and peaceful and powerful all at once. The vibrato of a sustained note on the cello, strong and simple and so fragile. The laughter of the family as tears of joy begin to flow. The words “I love you” when I heard them for the first time coming out of your mouth, strangely comfortable and yet unfamiliar at the same time. Every sound since the cochlear implant.

Chaos

It’s chaos out there. We cling to the skin of this earth, this ball of rock hurtling through space, protected by a thin layer of atmosphere. A pale lonely blue dot, surrounded by the deep cold dark of space, seemingly alone in the universe. No wonder we fight about imaginary lines that define our countries and we go to war because we don’t agree with what other people say. We are scared in our bones and so lonely, staring out into the stars, looking for answers and a friend. What a pity we miss hearing the stars sing His glory.

drabble day 26: trees

trees that grow in sand have certain qualities that other trees don't. there is the size for starters. they just don't get as big. the sort or insects maybe have something to do with the buds that bloom and when and how many all at once. trees that grow in sand grow slow. the water rushes through the sand when it rains, so the trees drink less, they don't soak. the live a sand life. harder, but slower. they crack. under the weight of winds. they hang on to each other. trees that grow in sand remind me of home.

drabble day 25: ad

the ad on the app i use to count my words up to one hundred is for Facebook. does facebook need to advertise? there is a picture of pusheen eating pizza with a smaller, fuzzier kitty whose name I don't know and don't feel motivated to look up. the little kitty is also eating pizza. the ad reads "Stay up to date with friends and family!" then the facebook logo and a green button that says "log in". i really don't think facebook need to advertise, although i enjoy seeing pusheen. he's so cute. but now i really want pizza.

drabble day 24: hanuted

oh, so you think it's haunted? why?

a rattling noise? when?

oh... the middle of the night?

oh no, four am? that's um...

yeah...

have you checked for possums?

yeah, i guess they could be living...

oh you did? you checked?

oh, you hired someone...

an exterminator? how much did that cost?

yikes!!

what about woodpeckers? they can make a lot of noise.

oh no, you're right. wrong time of day.

haunted though?

she what??

she died in the house? your house?

why the rattling noise though?

pregnant!? that's so sad!!

are you going to sell?

wait, why not?

... oh...

Toothbrush

The first time we were separated was the worst. Half of me gone to Washington DC on business, the other half of me at home. I kissed you extra special when you left, as if we could deposit it in our kissing bank and then withdraw it in the lonely dark. You called me to say good night and we said “I love you” a hundred times just in case the distance made it hard to hear. It’s easier now. But seeing just one toothbrush in the holder still makes me count down the minutes until I see you again.

drabble day 23: fixed

there. i fixed it. the loose chain in the downstairs toilet. i fixed the tilt in the lampshade. i fixed the pull in the rug. i fixed the loose shingle. i fixed that patch to your jacket, that project you've been putting off. i fixed the lawn mower. i then used it to "fix" the lawn. i fixed the scuff on your new sneakers. i fixed the pillows on the sofa so they are all perfectly positioned. i fixed the math error in the checkbook. i fixed every little thing i could find. but i could not fix my heart.

words and sentences and stories

You know what I do when I don’t know what to write? I start writing.

Just start typing words. Rectangle. America. Megaphone. Monday.

Then start writing sentences. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

Then start writing stories. Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young prince lived in a shining castle.

Next time, I’ll make sure that the words and sentences and stories are mine. Today, forgive me my borrowing. I write what I know and right now all I know are other people’s words and sentences and stories. Maybe tomorrow I’ll actually write.

Showing up

It starts with showing up. The only way to finish a race, even one that is thirteen or twenty-six or one hundred miles long, is by showing up and putting one foot in front of the other. Keep up that process and you can run the world. Even when the finish line is miles away, put one foot down then the other one. Repeat, repeat, repeat. And then you’ve reached it. The end of the race, the finish line. Because you showed up and kept going. There are so many races in the world waiting to be conquered.

Find them.

Where the Buzz Can Never Find Me

They say the buzz of the phone is a dopamine hit. It triggers excitement, novelty, something new — oh, you must check it, it could be anything!

Not me. The buzz of the phone makes my body tense, makes me dread checking. Why? Nothing unpleasant is coming through. All my notifications are off, except for the text messages. And text messages are usually friendly hellos, random life bits from family, a podcast recommendation from a friend.

If I don’t answer, it’s not your fault. I probably left my phone on a piece of furniture, where the buzz can never find me.

Overrated

True perfection is unattainable. We have an arbitrary definition of perfection, this standard, this ideal, this unreachable bar that is just beyond the grasp of our fingertips. It just sits there, taunting us, reminding us that we always fall just a little bit short and we are just a hair’s breadth away from the goal. But perfection is overrated. Even the moon has craters. The standard is too high, the ideal too far, the bar too distant. Let us be content to be human. Let us be content to remember the moon. Let us be reflections of the greater light.

drabble day 22: message

the message in the bottle was in a foreign alphabet. korean or Russian maybe. but some water got in and symbols have sort of melted. green and blue ink dripped down smelly brown paper with fuzy white mold sprouting from one of the four corners. the smell was more like urine than ocean. i took a picture and stuffed the paper back in the bottle, but the cork broke and i had nothing to stop the smell, so i left it behind on the beach i still don't know what the note says. but I'll never forget that rotten smell.

drabble day 21: space

take me with you when you go to space. I'll sit quietly in the passenger seat. i promise not to get space sick. I won't complain when i get hungry, or giggle too much when anyone has to pee. i promise not to push any buttons or flip any switches. I don't snore. i promise i won't keep asking "are we there yet" or anything like that. you can pick the music, but if it's okay I'll make a few playlists. please take me with you. I can't stand the thought of being on this big dumb rock without you.

Gallons of milk

We are not gallons of milk. We do not arrive with the date of our expiration stamped on our forehead. People do not examine us, looking for the number that will tell them if we are good or bad. Make no mistake though. We have an expiration date. We just don’t know it until it arrives. What a mercy. What a brilliant invitation to truly live life to the fullest because we have no idea when our time will come. We are not gallons of milk. We are arms and legs and a heart and a soul. We are human.

Humans

We, echoes of stardust, humanity at its fullest, we are astounding. The capacity we have to be kind. Giving money to strangers. Running towards danger to save another. Laying our lives down for our friends. The capacity we have to be evil. Killing fellow students. Mocking dying men. Trampling over others in a race to the top.

How does this happen? How is there so much possibility for good and evil in one person? The baby who will be born tomorrow has the capacity to be Mother Theresa or Ted Kaczynski. We are potential extremes. How do we do it?

drabble day 20: books

my aesthetic is books. big books, short books, kids' books, anthology books. i like the spines all lined up on a shelf, organized by color or size or author, it doesn't matter. i love the look of books. books in a pile on a desk or table or falling over on the edge of  a messy bed. books can clutter a place and it still works for me. open or closed, old or new, big print or little, books all look lovely. books with pictures, books with pen marks, books with cracked spines, i love them all. books are beautiful.

drabble day 19: art

i am grateful for art. for the platforms that help me view it. the artwork of my friends. the work of handsome strangers. to the technology that makes it possible for me to leave a tiny picture comment so the artist can feel a little love.

i am grateful for art. for the free forms provided by networks and made possible by advertising. so i can hear the heart of a favorite chef whose restaurant I've never eaten at, or the three female comedians I'd like to meet some day at one of their shows.

i am grateful for art.

The greatest of these

It’s easy to be in love with the idea of love. The rainbow unicorn feeling that makes stars comes out of your eyes and makes butterflies flutter through your stomach.

It’s harder to actually love. To wake up in the middle of the night to answer a scared small voice. To not curse out the driver who cut you off. To endure work every day to support the ones at home. To lay your life down only to realize you have found it. To empty self, to love with sacrifice, and find redemption in the end. Harder. But worth it.

The Places Only God Can Go (friday's drabble)

The human soul is unknowable darkness and too much brightness. After all, we are made in God’s image, One we can spend our whole lives chasing, a chase that only reveals more hidden things. 

Occasionally we come close to knowing the depths of another’s heart, yet so many of us can’t even know ourselves fully. So we spend hours in conversation and contemplation, untangling everything that was to uncover who we are.

How strange to be a secret from yourself, spending your life swimming the deeps, forever a beginner.

How humbling to know there are places only God can go.

drabble day 18: disappointment

ordered tea with milk and instead got tea with sugar. no milk. just sweet, and too sweet at that. but i didn't check at the shop where i got it. i took it in good faith. i didn't even attempt to open the lid until i got where i was going. it would be too hot anyway. now here i am half an hour away with a big hot cup of minor disappointment and I'm out two dollars that I could have used on a soda if i wanted something sweet.

i just shrug, i think, it could be worse.

Content

A year ago, you were all posting over 46,000 Instagram posts every minute and liking Facebook posts to the tune of 5.75 billion times a day. But that was last year. You all know it’s more than that now. So much content and so much disconnect. Every like and comment a dopamine hit to the brain, cocaine in the digital age. Every post a shout into the ether, begging to be heard. Validate me with data, this google of code twinkling across networks. We connect across the miles, faces plastered to phones, waiting for the next hit to the brain.

Echo

It is remarkable, isn’t it? That nothing new is truly ever created. That so many years ago, matter exploded into being. The chemicals then are still here today. Over and over. Break it down, build it up, the matter is identical. Matter cannot be created or destroyed. We drink the same water the dinosaurs stepped in. We are all echoes of stardust that scattered across the skies at the beginning of the universe.

Do the laws of physics apply to souls as well? Is there a finite amount of love in creation? Can we create love? Can we destroy it?

drabble day 17: listen

it doesn't matter how many times i hear them. it doesn't matter what time of day. it doesn't matter what mood I'm in. it doesn't matter if there are others there. it doesn't matter if I'm energetic or tired. it doesn't matter if i haven't heard them in a long time, or they are on repeat. it doesn't matter if it's playing in the background of a tv commercial, or if i am blasting it in my car. it doesn't matter if it has lyrics or not. almost nothing else matters at all. some songs just make me tear up. 

Trusting Spring

When did everything turn so green? A few weeks ago, we wondered if it was safe to turn the heat off yet. Now today, I walk the mowed perimeter of a familiar field, and the grass filling the center is almost waist high now. Dandelions are poking defiant yellow heads up. Swallows dip and swoop overhead. A startled chipmunk dives into the brush as I approach. The air is pleasantly humid, just enough that I remember how hard it is to breathe winter air.

Spring is hard to trust, but I think I can finally say the thaw has come.

On Gig Economy Friendships

The perils of gig economy: you could work with people for years and never know them. Could I tell you my boss’ default coffee order? My office manager’s favorite color? Probably not, but I try to learn the best I can from our usual Thursday meetings.

“I like being here… I just don’t like the drive that much,” I admit, as I stand with a sigh and gather my backpack and lunch bag. Is putting off that commute the reason I keep lingering? Or is it because now I am busy curiously listening, watering those little seeds of new friendship?

Lilac

It takes me by surprise every year. The newness of spring, the joy of lilac trees on the side of the road that amaze me with their blooms covering the green. Untended yet beautiful, gifts of nature surrounding me in the most unexpected places. The scent of lilac wisps through the air, reminding me that there are still places where wildness yields beauty, overgrowth gives way to loveliness, the forgotten brush adorns itself in splendor. And I look for this in my own life too, looking for ashes to yield life, fear gives way to love, wilderness adorned in blossoms.

drabble day 16: Thursday

is it Thursday yet? it feels like Thursday. something in the air and in the way people are dressed is screaming Thursday to me. but it's not Thursday? what day is it then? Tuesday? are you sure? no, look at the calendar and the date on your phone, it's Wednesday. but it feels like a Tuesday to you? do you ever fantasize about redesigning the calendar? changing the months around so the start of the school year and the calendar year are the same? or to make a week 10 days instead of seven? are you sure it isn't Thursday?

drabble day 15: kimchi haiku

kimchi is haiku. or is haiku kimchi? both seem simple. 5 syllables, cabbage, 7 syllables, fermentation, 5 syllables, spices. but someone who understands haiku could explain the complicated nuance of the language used in each line. while someone who loves kimchi could describe the complicated nuance of the vegetables used in the recipe. haiku has a natural element. kimchi has a radish element. you become familiar with haiku by reading. seeing and hearing and studying it. you become familiar with kimchi by tasting. smelling and stirring and studying it. so which is which? is kimchi haiku or is haiku kimchi?

When I brush my teeth

When I brush my teeth every night, I always start on the top right side. I would not even know how to start on the other side. So I challenge myself to start on the lower left side. Reverse the polarity. Find out what happens when everything is swapped and turned upside down. Topsy-turvy might be good. It is a strength to prove that I can change a habit, control my tendencies, be the change I wish to see. Because if I can brush my teeth on the opposite side of my mouth, who knows what other changes are possible?

Shapes and colors and sounds

Shapes and colors and sounds yet therein lies the secret to connection between one soul and another.

The words flow fast and furious, racing through my brain into my fingers, translated into lines that mean something to you.

The words flow fast and furious, racing through my brain out of my mouth, rendered into sounds that mean something to you.

What a marvel language is. With one word, I can make your day or break your heart. With one word, you can build me up or tear me down. The power lies in language, the shapes and colors and sounds.

drabble day 14: questions

questions asked by someone who really wants to answer it themselves:

what kind of music do you like?

where is your favorite place to visit?

what is your favorite flavor of ice cream?

do you read comic books?

what's the worst job you ever had?

did you see that video about the woman who made friends with a bee?

do you follow boston dynamics on instagram?

what did you study at school?

what is the scariest movie you've ever seen?

does your family have any weird holiday traditions?

what was the last show you binge watched?

do you like me?

On Time Travel (Sort Of.)

Confession: I spent over an hour going back in time today.

I mean, my intentions started good… I remembered a dog photo that Instagram NEEDED to have. And then next thing I know I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, finishing off my coffee and scrolling backwards through my own photos.

Through the past year. Through falls and summers in New England. My wedding week. Engaged months. Life before the ring. Life before in Florida. Inside jokes and badly lit pictures of concerts, birthday cards, cats, food. The little things that make a life, the tiny scraps of my story.

drabble 13: mom

my mother is by no means a genius. not even very book smart despite how many books she reads. she tried to teach me the alphabet, but i didn't know that elohmenope wasn't just a stange word in the mide of the song. she encourage me to finish my report on FDR but my tears won her over and we went to the pool. she let me learn to play violin and paid for extra lessons. she taught me how to drive in an empty parking lot, and we both panicked when i had to pass a horse drawn carriage.

Struggle

There is so much darkness, so much pain, so much sorrow tempered throughout the entirety of our lives. It seems sometimes enough to rip us apart from the inside out, exposing our beating heart to a watching world.

But sometimes light and hope and joy do that too. Hope that beats through the arteries and veins with enough force to break your heart. Joy that fills your lungs so full that oxygen isn’t even needed. The eternal struggle of darkness and light deep inside us. Sorrow tempered with hope, joy tempered with pain, darkness tempered with light. Our humanity, tempered.

Girls in the front yard

Turning cartwheels
Feet to the air
Hair to the ground
Turning sky green, grass blue
Flipping narratives on a sunny afternoon

Don't let anyone tell you you're not allowed

Catwalk, spacewalk
Overqualified for the Ted Talk
Girls, for you it's just a cakewalk

Homemaker, humanitarian
Risk-taker, octogenarian
They can't say you're not allowed

Corner office door: your name
Tell them you deserve to get paid the same

They may try to buy you, sell you
Sell to you, buy for you
But you're priceless
You're priceless
Don't mince words, no niceness
Say it with me now,
"I'm priceless."
You're allowed

Regalia

It is the honored tradition. On the cusp of something new, dawn just breaking over the new horizon, and the graduates greet the day. Some with cords and sashes, all the colors you could imagine, all with black robes, the uniform of graduation. A sea of hopeful faces, all different, look forward to what is coming. Tassels to the right. The work is done, the chapter is complete and a new one is begun. A ceremony, a convocation, a commencement. Tassels to the left. The sun is rising and tomorrow has arrived. Take off the black robe, embrace your future.

Bad at Love

After Halsey
(A 3/4 Drabble)

If you were more beautiful
Had a shinier personality
More golden-hearted
Perhaps you could inspire love
But as you are?
You can only move him to anger
You deserve the ire, have earned the neglect
Choose loneliness if you wish to avoid the accusations
Liar, traitor, screwed-up
Or suffer like a heroine
You didn't leave because you were stupid
You're alone because you are unlovable
You're lucky he never hit you
The next one will

drabble day 12: rain

i wandered into a field / i stood / waiting / for the sky to open up and shed / the drops the air was promising / that the flowers yurn for / the dusty dirt will embrace as one does / a long lost brother / with a dry throat from too much heartache

i stood / waiting / arms open / palms up / eyes closed / tongue willing to stretch for a drop / to escape the vacancy / dwelling deep / like a history more than a memory / perhaps / dramatized to paint heroes as perfect men with singing voices

arms open / i accepted the history of the earth / wiating for the rain

Running out of time

“Just wait until you get older. The time goes even faster.” They always said that.

How could time possibly go any faster than its current lightning speed? And yet, they were right. It really is going faster. Maybe the theoretical physicists can explain this one to me. Pull out your fancy equations and your computer simulations. Explain why I’m always behind, always trying to catch up, always running out of time. Time is not an endless resource, it turns out. It gets used and used until finally it’s used up. Only so many hours in the day and somehow I’ve

drabble day 11: dough

the dough becomes smooth to touch / still warm to the touch / the yeast excited by the action / the energy from the push and pull / the dough becomes an extension of you / your muscles and skin / the smell filling your pores with microbiology at play on the surface / of an old captains desk / refurnished / lifted on tall legs / and polished to perfection / the hard oak doesn't give to your push / only the dough can forgive under the weight you press against it / with warm palms / soft from the flour and tough from the salt and sugar / until it's formed / and rising

Transcend and Include

Some time ago, I was introduced to the idea “transcend and include.” (Was it Richard Rohr? I know it was mentioned in Falling Upward somewhere.)

The idea goes we make peace with our old selves as we grow. I tend to take all the old things — quirks, interests, unhealthy beliefs — and pretend they never existed. Sometimes it’s dumb, like my pirated Euro dance mp3 phase. Sometimes it’s deeper, like asking big questions of my faith.

But everything Past Jen are still in there. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been there. I can’t be me without also being her.



(PS: I stuck to the rules of the drabble here, but there's an uncut version up on my blog today. ;))

On Unclean Things

It's been a crazy work week, and I'm falling behind on my drabbles... here's one from two days ago! A brief meditation on Acts 10. Friday drabble is forthcoming. :)

Sometimes God has a flair for the dramatic.

Here’s Peter, so hungry he could eat a horse if they were kosher, and a sheet drops form the sky with bleating goats, yammering chickens, and shrieking pigs tangled in the folds, a cacophonous buffet he cannot touch.

What’s wrong? Don’t call the things I’ve made unclean!

Later, a faithful centurion — a Gentile? what? — wants to meet, talk, eat with him.

Did he recognize then? The rabbi who talked to a Samaritan woman and held leprous hands said the same thing all along?

Don’t call these people I love unclean.

Superpower

I used to think I had a superpower. I never cried while cutting onions. I could cut up a hundred onions with nary a tear to be found. I thought I had something amazing. Stronger eyes? A less sensitive nose? Some miraculous genetic twist that kept me separate from the rest of humanity? A simple superpower, perhaps, but really quite practical. Who needs flying or superstrength or invisibility or webslinging or immortality when onions cannot affect me?

Turns out contacts are magical for stopping tears when cutting onions. I haven’t worn contacts in years. I’ve done a lot of crying.

drabble day 10: nightmares

the worst nightmares subside when he's by your side. the heady scent of his sweat on the pillow case helps, but it's not the same as having a warm body beside you breathing loudly and steadily. then even when the dark parts of your gray matter flare up, he's there to shush you and rock you back to sleep in his arms, to comfort you back to rest. his weight on the mattress pulling you just a little bit closer to him as you lull into unconscious flight without the fear of falling when he is there to catch you.

drabble day 9: reasons

reasons:

hot tea with just the right amount of milk.

cat toes.

comfortable shoes. socks that don't ride down.

leveling up in a video game and unlocking new gear.

a poem that feels like it was written for you.

a sandwich that someone else made for you.

the perfect combination of heat and fresh rain that fills your nostrils with petrichor.

finding the exact book you were searching for without asking for help, as if the book was waiting there just for you.

a conversation that lasts well past the time when all the lights go out.

the spaghetti emoji.

On the wonder of dandelions

I am the sign of warm weather come. I am yellow sunshine to my drab surroundings, my brothers and I scattered as far as the eye can see. I wither before harsh chemicals that burn me down to my roots, vengefully poured out by those in pursuit of an arbitrary definition of perfection. I am the joy of a mother’s bouquet from her young child who recognizes color as beauty and wants to gift it to the one he loves. I gladly shrink and pass away to allow the hope of future generations to be borne aloft on the wind.

Light in darkness

I have always wanted to tend the fire. To coax the flames into life, to pile the wood just so, to stir the embers, revealing the pulsing glowing light simmering beneath the ash. I have always wanted to hold the big poker stick, to feel the heat so close to my face I can sense the skin pinking, to watch the flare of light shining into the darkness. I want to keep the smoke smell in my hair for days to remind me of moments when all that mattered was the s’mores, songs, and conversation circled around the comforting blaze.

drabble day 8: deer

a young girl plays at the edge of her family home. a two story white painted wooden palace with a wrap around porch. there are woods here. sometimes deer emerge at dawn and chew on the long blades of grass. she has her back turned to the palace. she is speaking to an invisible companion. she hides the bundle of pink and yellow tulips and strawberry blossoms that she plucked from the perfectly groomed garden around the front of the palace. she learned at school that somewhere in the East, the deer have powers like gods and could grant wishes.

Also a Spring Drabble

A 3/4 Drabble

Maples shed a carpet of fluorescent green
Grass has surged back to life
Children are playing basketball in the streets
Notice the burnt corners of dogwood blossoms
The quickening forsythia
Run through clouds of lilac air
People arrive home in diagonal afternoon light
The daffodils are moving on
The tulips have their turn
The street sweepers are cleaning away
Winter's salt and sand
Summer's await at the beach
How will you spend this short time?

drabble day 7: occhiolism

my occhiolism is triggered by videos of three legged dogs who don't know there are parts of themselves missing. by clear nights, the kind where you can see the strands of the milky way. by nice men who also keep very tidy beards. by seven foot tall drag queens who walk in heels like they're slippers. by frogs who climb trees. by the speed at which a rabbit can eat a flower stem or leaf of lettuce without blinking. by women who collect water every day from a muddy well nine miles from home. by the purr of a cat.

Jewel Days

These are jewel days. We have slogged through endless winter that somehow found the decency to end. We have endured grey that bores all the way down to the bones, cold that burrows into the soul and just won’t quit. And yet, always around the corner, hope beckoned.

Today she held out her hand and bade us welcome. Verdant new green like you can’t imagine, floral scents in the breeze tickling your olfactory nerves with mad delight, blue so deep it’s like the ocean has multiplied above your head. Beauty like this will break your heart if you’re not careful.

Double Drabble! On The PHQ-9 and Green Growing Things

I never got to post yesterday's drabble, so... here's two in one!

May 6 - On The PHQ-9

Over the past few weeks, have you been bothered by…
Little interest or pleasure in doing things?
Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless?
Trouble falling or staying asleep? Sleeping too much?

If I’m honest, no, not really. I circle all the zeros. Maybe a one for the question about being tired.

Have I felt them before? Of course. Do I feel them now? Not in these busy two weeks.

“I think I passed,” I joke as I hand questionnaires back, mostly zeroes.

“You know I’ll make a note that says you could be minimizing, right?”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

---

May 7 - On Green Growing Things

Despite my brown thumb, plants are winning me over.

It started with a little kalanchoe, a succulent that bursts into yellow flower clusters once a year and doesn’t mind when I forget to water it for two weeks. There was last year’s small vegetable garden, with an abundance of zucchini and weird broccoli plants. In a way, keeping green growing things alive in the midst of a hard summer kept me alive too.

Today, I turned over soil and spread manure. Basil and oregano seedlings are sprouting on the windowsill. And the kalanchoe stands tallest, ready for a new pot.

drabble day 6: star

be a star.

be combustible and far, far away. spin alone in space. super. giant. radiant and untouched.

be blue or red or yellow. be made of raw chemical elements vying for electrons and equilibrium.

be the symbol of a young girl's wish. the subject of a song. the focus of a study.

be a flicker. be a dream. be a whisper in the darkness. a twinkle in a summer night sky.

be the arrow. the way for the sailors in a tumultuous sea. the guide for a lone figure among the dunes licking the salt from his cracked lips.

Logic 1-800-273-8255

After Alessia Cara and Khalid

I can't say I know
Even though I know
Cuz things that happened that long ago
I just smothered
Slicked over like butter
People can't imagine me sad
Why should they
When my life's never been that bad?
But even people with easy lives feel worthless
Experience loss, disappointment, can't handle stress
And when I look back 20 years, what have I done?
No major accomplishments, haven't saved anyone
And I've been in that place with no friends for my phone
No use to anyone, no Building and Loan
Trust me anyway, Dear, we need you here
Life is better

Luck of the Irish

Everyone knows that a four-leaf clover is lucky. I’ve looked for years and never found one. Field after field of green. Three leaves, three leaves, three leaves. So I stopped looking. It’s just not fun to keep searching for that lucky charm in the sprawling expanse of three-leaf clover. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. Only that isn’t lucky. It’s just hard and sharp. Maybe I’ll never find my four-leaf clover. Maybe it’s not worth my time to keep looking for the four leaves.

Because I realized I don’t need a four-leaf clover when I’ve got you.

On (Re)Learning

Some Lessons (Re)Learned Today:

1) Speak up.
2) Don’t get dehydrated.
3) Seriously, don’t get dehydrated. Especially if you’re stuck in a crowd and starting to introvert and it’s warm outside.
4) Turn off Twitter sometimes
5) And Facebook. Those voices are going to be louder than yours if you spend too much time with them.
6) Googling drabble prompts probably won’t help you figure out what to write.
7) Neither will starting at a blank screen.
8) Change “learned” to “relearned” because you already know these things.
9) Life is a whole lot of relearning.
10) Keep going.

The Grief Rulebook

There is a certain rulebook we play by when confronted by the grief that assails a friend who has lost someone. We attend a funeral, we bake a casserole, we offer condolences.

But if we are honest, there is little answer for the crushing grief that crashes in during the midnight hours. There is no timeline for when the tears should stop.

The rulebook is merely a construct that we erect, hoping to ballast ourselves against pain we cannot control. It does not address a thousand other situations where the sorrow runs just as deep. It is not our hope.

On the Color of Chameleons

Is it a gift or a curse to be a chameleon?

The gift: Everybody likes you. Nobody feels threatened. You can talk about anything — politics, religion, whatever — and still walk away friends.

The curse: Do you even know what you think, really?

Once someone asked me, “Where are you politically?” And I replied, “My liberal friends think I’m liberal, and my conservative friends think I’m conservative.” In these strange divided days, I might’ve answered “flaming moderate.” I can adapt freely, because I want you to feel heard, known.

And then some days, I wonder… what color is a chameleon, really?


{Here's a Day Late Drabble I wrote yesterday. On Fridays, I thought I'd use the prompt from Five Minute Friday. It's a fun group challenge I've been playing with off and on. This week's FMF prompt was "Adapt."}

Untitled Drabble

They didn't teach me about Puebla in school. Nothing about Hip-Hop culture. I read Allen Ginsburg and Zora Neale Hurston on my own. Didn't learn to change a tire. Have that same learned helplessness as the women I wonder at who don't pump their own gas. I'm not trying to appropriate, just compensate. I'm always behind the trends. No, I haven't read that book. I haven't heard that band. I read the headline, but not the story. I can't relate to you using the means of your favorite TV show. I'm excited about the movie everyone forgot 2 years ago.

drabble day 5: cookie dough

dear cookie dough,

as a child i was told you are dangerous for me to eat. something about raw eggs could kill me, i guess. i trusted my mom.

as a teenager, you were my flirtation with mortality. a way of walking on the edge. a rebellion.

as an adult, i learned that my mom was eating you when i wasn't aware.

and now, a little later in life, i realize you're not going to kill me in an instant, but you could still be my down fall in the end.

cookie dough, this needs to stop.

with love,
women.

drabble day 4: missed

a day goes missed. spiralled. deep into an abyss. a blackness. a fear. filled with nothing but worry and doubt. the mistakes you've made, reaching out from the sides of every minute.

until you jump in. you leap. you dive.

you jump in because The Rock would. face down your fear. and find not a nightmare, but a dream. the unattainable. the desire.

your wants mingle with your self doubt. they dance. just out of reach. arms too short.

The Rock must be a Buddhist. he must not want anything.

who would jump into everything you can't have? The Rock?

Small luxury

When each hair follicle prickles in the cold and rubs up painful against the inside of your pant leg, that is not enjoyable. When you shiver so much from the chill settled deep within you that you strain a muscle, it is not pleasant. When you look forward to doing dishes or enduring a workout simply for the warmth it creates, that is only temporary relief.

But when spring has finally sprung and the warmth pervades the atmosphere, you realize again it is a small luxury to step out of a warm shower into a warm room. Winter is ended.

Nice For What

After Drake

They chose not to write your name in the history books

Called the streets after Johns and Roberts

They can deny, but they can't change

That you reinforce the concrete, 

You be the bones of these buildings 

You the mother of this city, raising it

A crane taller than a skyscraper

You quiet your footsteps? Keep anger out of your voice? 

A woman who isn't angry?

Don't make me laugh

Boy, you walk in these heels,

Silent while others speak, and tell me you won't resent a single thing 

O, a nursery rhyme told you our disposition?

Honey, you trippin' 

On Small Talking About Weather

“It feels pretty tropical out there today, huh?” I nod and move around her at the Cumberland Farms coffee counter, trying to find something to sweeten my sorta-weak-but-free iced coffee.

She’s right though. Sunshine, warmth, sudden rain — not drizzly, cold spring rain, but huge, plopping drops. Rain that may become storms, leaving the air smelling like summer.

It’s still hard to resist joking about humid air I can breathe, to wear my Southern identity with the same pride my neighbors carry when they talk about winter. But I don’t. I’m too busy secretly wishing for a thunderstorm.

Everything is dangerous if you consider it deeply enough

There is an intrinsic trust when it comes to food. I, having slaved in the heat of the kitchen, place in front of you a plate of something that I hope will be deliciously satisfying. You, having waited patiently, pick up your fork and knife, inhaling the aroma wafting in front of your face. I watch you place the food in your mouth, watch your face, looking for some sign of enjoyment, trusting you will be kind with me.

But the real trust comes when I leave, hoping that I didn’t just accidentally poison you. You, trusting that I didn’t.

drabble day 3: swan dilemma

dilemmas don't hatch themselves. no. someone has to sit on something to make it happen. a secret. a regret. hide a lazy move. tell a lie.

swans don't makes nests in swamps. they chose picturesque lakes in the center of ivy league universities. coves on the edge of the sea drapped in weeping willows. monet paintings.

a pearl is a dilemma to an oyster. pain wrapped in saliva and agitation. changes the flavor.

dilemmas can be quirky or devistating. they can take the shape of a cake. a wreck. something straight out of the fairy godmothers' cottage kitchen.

swans bite.

Finesse

After Bruno Mars and Cardi B

I never had it going on

(too awkward and ugly)

And it didn't feel good to be me

(depression/self-loathing)

And still I miss it

The sparkle jeans I never owned

The butterfly hair clips I still own

For a hairstyle I couldn't create

It's passed me by

I could dig out my tattoo choker

But I'll look like I've never been 17

And am jealous of those who are

And I miss Alternative Rock

(I miss Alternative Rock)

I remember running on a treadmill with a discman

And that now I've been alive longer without you than with you

drabble day 2: mars rocks

do you think we, humans, together, would have mastered safe and efficient interplanetary travel by now if one of our neighboring planets had something on it that we wanted? they way india has tea and spices, or the way central america had gold?

if mars rocks somehow cured cancer, or racoons as we know them were from mercury, do you think we would have set up camp in the 70's?

and if we had safe and efficient interplanetary travel, do you think more people would visit the moon and try to find their home town on the planet spinning below?

New Rules

After Dua Lipa

I can see how much this is hurting you. We’ve blurred the lines between pleasure and self destruction.
How long will you keep doing the same thing, expecting a different result?

Someone has figured you out too well. Don’t be afraid to change the rules of their game.
Don’t feel like you have to finish a turn before walking away.

Do you believe you have to make these decisions alone?

I know you neither want nor need my advice. But darling, you know I have to tell you.
I see flames rising around you. Drop what you’re holding and run.

This year will be different

Every summer, I promise myself that this will be the year. This time will not be like the other times. These months will be different. I will look back on my previous summer self in loving disdain and shake my head with appreciative wisdom. I will not have the same problem as I did last year. So many days, weeks, months have passed. I am an older wiser person now. This year is the one where I plan and manage and arrange and think ahead.

This is the year I will not start off with farmer tan lines. I hope.

Words are funny things, you know

Words are funny things, you know. 

I fight against empty white pages and a blinking black cursor as they taunt me, telling me that the words I have aren’t enough, aren’t sufficient, aren’t good. Blank spaces and lonely pages, waiting for my words to tell a story, to paint a picture full of colors with just the black and white dancing in front of my eyes, to bring something where there was nothing. 

I battle the emptiness with words, the silence with sound, the fear with hope. All this power in simple strokes.  

Because words are funny things, you know?

Havana

Havana

After Camila Cabello

What, you never listened to “Copacabana?” The first rule of exotic locations is, “Don't fall in love.” You may wish to be followed back by a daydream, haunted. But the truth is, you will become a ghost in a memory. Mornings riding horseback on the beach, nights salsa dancing under colored lights, they won’t make you interesting. Just frustrated with your dead-end job and boring Tinder dates. You can live for the next trip, but you can’t plan the next romance. And if you could, it wouldn’t give you significance.

I could have told you, if you had asked me.

drabble day 1: how to start again

how do i count the words in onenote? it's been a few years and it seems silly to open a laptop, to turn it on (when I'm not at work) to draft a drabble in word, to see the word count at the bottom of the screen. there must be a way.

"hey google, are there any websites or apps that count words of text?"

"here is a wbsite that count words. I'm sending the link to your phone."

"hey google... thanks."

"i'm just doing my job!"

the word counter tool says ninety two. I'm out of practice i guess.