I keep staring at the red chair,its back fading in the sunlit window—little to be done about that,or the emptiness left behind.An outline, a trace,an indentation where he last sat.It’s my chair, but I never sit there.That’s his place when he’s here—except for times he slides in next to me,leaning on my shoulder,resting his head…
Category: Poetry
Spaces Between
Each night when I slide into bed,or with each “good morning” text,or when I sit on the yellow couchfacing the vacant red chair—I miss him.But then I hear the giggles,watch her sign “more,”or say “oh-oh” when something fallsbefore declaring she’s “all done.”I am glad to be here.Family game nights,Independence Day cookouts,and splash daysin the hot…
The Sunday Post: Sticky Note
Happiness is acceptance of where you are. I heard this at a marketing event, of all places.I wrote it on a sticky note and put it on my screen. I’ve heard this, or similar mantras before.I’ve considered it, and I can see its merit,But don’t think I really bought in.This past year has not been…
The Sunday Post: Kaleidoscope
I’m a kaleidoscopeI’m the daughter of a volunteer,led to the jungles of the Darien by an inspirational leader.I’m the daughter of a tech-loving rancher, a loyal son who tended to the land butloved everything that was new.I’m the daughter of a nurse who cared forfamily, friends, and strangers in their time of need.I’m the daughter…
Querido Papá
If I see it on the menu – corned beef, ‘kraut, swiss, and rye -though it’s not necessarily what I would pick,I (almost) always have to give it a try.Often times I hear a song, a tune and right away it takes me back.What wouldn’t I give to hear your baritone,Or see your hands curled…