Down by the Creek (a poem)

We’re at the creek because this is a happy place

for us – the birdsong is soothing, the trickling water

reminds me these places exist in reality –

not just the online world we live in.

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Soul Snatcher

The soul-snatcher glared at me from the dusty street corner with fiery orange eyes, his hands cupped over his mouth because of the early morning cold.

I had been out late that night, and I was returning home a little tipsy.

“Hello there,” he said. “Looking for your fix?”

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The Neighbor’s Vegetables (a poem)

The neighbor talks to me as she tends her vegetable garden –

she talks at me is more like it; I hardly get a word in, you see.

She says, “All Lives Matter;” I bite my tongue,

let her ramble, not knowing what’s bouncing in that brain.

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Adjusting to the ‘New Normal’

Here we are, nearly four months into the pandemic. The whole thing has been a very strange experience, for all us. It’s been a shared experience across the planet, though some countries have managed it better than others. I’m learning that the ability to adapt is so important.

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The Pale Woman (a poem)

Down the winding path, you go deep into the forest –

the dense birch trees make it so dark that only

a faint light breaks through and illuminates

the leave-strewn path.

You were told to avoid this place – a place

where corpses dangle from branches and

lay twisted on the forest floor, their faces

stuck in a final moment of eagerness to

kill a lifetime of sorrow.

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The Witch Queen (a poem)

The Witch Queen nurses you to health and assures you

she means no harm – the people fear her because she’s

ageless and has wandered these woods for centuries,

speaking with wild animals and traversing the dark

landscape, looking for lost travelers.

She tends to their wounds, offers medicine in her hut,

then devours them in sexual ecstasy like they’ve

never experienced before. They all leave feeling better –

the Witch Queen is your friend, not your enemy.

(Photo by Miriam Espacio on Unsplash)

Note: This poem was inspired by a character in Old Gods of Appalachia, a horror anthology podcast that I’m currently obsessed with.

In the Garden (a poem)

In the garden, I dig my hands into the cool,

dark soil and pull out weeds – it feels so good

to connect with our Mother. The sun is shining

and I can smell the rosebush near the shed,

reminding me not all is lost, that when

we’re all gone, there will be peace again.

(Photo by Ricardo Resende on Unsplash)

Addiction is Like (a poem)

Addiction is like an old record skipping,

caught in a permanent loop,

but you can’t stop the needle,

because you’re handcuffed to the radiator

and your hand is sore and bleeding from

trying to break free –

so you keep pulling until you realize

you can only accept the skipping sound

and once you do that, it’s like

you don’t even hear it.

(Photo by Steve Harvey on Unsplash)

Spirit and Flesh (a poem)

This gothic cathedral was once a spiritual home.

Priests dabbed foreheads with holy water and

incense wafted to high ceilings and

parishioners chewed on wafers and said:

“Peace be with you.”

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Today’s quote – a reminder from James Baldwin on why history matters

“People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them.” – commonly attributed to James Baldwin. As the protests have continued lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the importance of history. Some people are acting like Black Lives Matter has come out of nowhere, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

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