i sit with the slumber of others the hum of the fan warming our home the solitude is like an interloper the quiet, like a temporary reprieve soon there will be clamor and brilliant light as my daughter resists the day; then the slow rumble as my son is unearthed from the bed covers only …

i ride for the wind, my companion gently consoling me with a soft caress; or else my adversary resisting my motion like a stern parent. i ride for the sun, warming my back with it’s steady heat or a jilted lover hiding behind the trees or heavy clouds afraid to show its face. 1.31.17

day starts heavy weighed down by bedcovers like a swaddled baby trapped in warmth. face feels the chill of the outside air and i long to stay, stay in. 1.30.17

painted like glamor queens of old we decorate our little girls and send them out to spring and flip for us all; the juxtaposition of strength and allure in one so young. 1.29.17

the pot has been stirred it’s bubbling over world now aware of the stench of its hate. let us be witches who gather together to decay others’ fear with each coming day. 1.28.17