The Bid

In the nothingness of being a mother of three teenagers I latched onto a trumpet at an auction house. Just a brass beginner piece with two mouthpieces and two mutes. Mr. Harris told me decades ago I’d never play French Horn again if I quit that day and he may be right with the costs of instruments being what they are. But to touch brass again and practice embouchure. To play what I cannot sing. I placed a bid and held my breath.



I strand-brush away as my family scrolls past strolls past me i could descend into an abyss and be sitting in one place I worry- wart!- where? like that everyday. Every so often a secret an angel meets my gaze then turns turns turns away. In heaven’s refining fires is hell why stay? People change every day.

The woe of the gardener is the reward of the rabbit and caterpillar

I danced with the poet

And he skinned me of my song

Time to stretch scars

To accept the last kicks of soul

Time to accept life outside of the chrysalis

On and On

Brazen seas keep on rolling, rolling strong

In his grasp, I am flung along

What song would calm winds

What eye would find me

As the brazen seas keep rolling, rolling strong

A master I need of the wind and the rain

A god in his right and a God in name

To pluck me from this rolling gray which rolls on and on and on

I am lost from the light

In the distance I see it fading

Will I last one more night

I roll on and on and on

Fence Sitter Find A Home

Where once I wore out the fence in sitting, I find myself two strides into your yard

What kept me there rocking I cannot remember

But a call of my name and I stumble into your field. What loss has pulled me from my gray walk -could fuel the scream coming from your house

A kitten’s heartbeat fading

We hold a funeral by the fence

By that well worn fence

First thing in the morning