Inaugural Issue of Ailment – Chronicles of Illness Narratives

During these months of such uncertainty, creative expression is a beautiful release. It is an honor to have my poetry and art included in this gorgeous, thoughtful, inaugural issue of Ailment – Chronicles of Illness Narratives.(clicking here or on image also will take you to Ailment’s First Issue)
I hope you, your loved ones, and all people you know are managing the days and staying safe❤️

I sketched the three drawings that accompany my poems when visiting with my beautiful mother at the nursing home. These last few weeks have been difficult not visiting with her, but days when she manages to answer the phone we get to chat a little. The nursing home allows families to drop items off. I go once a week and drop off crullers, comics, and family photos with love notes. My mother is my touchstone. Since suffering her massive stroke, over two years now, she still never complains. She manages small smiles. I selfishly miss that glorious smile of hers, the one I so often brag about-her god-given movie star grin.❤️xo

thank you

if you want to check out Ailment’s website click here

the woodpecker

I hope you are navigating okay in the world as it is right now.

This morning, I’m listening to a woodpecker attached to the metal gutter, a floor above my studio.
For a few weeks, every morning, he’s been happily pecking away.
His reason for pecking is not what you might think.

I wrote this poem this morning and wanted to share❤️ ❤️

Stay safe, keep busy, and if you have sky available where you are, every once in awhile look up at the bright blue and the night stars 🌹

drop foot

Drop Foot  

rising up from the lobby traffic
dark robes shadow her dimming eyes
petrified ash covering her skin flicked off the devil’s cigarette
I now believe in failure
sallow cheekbones sunken above anchored form
where careless pay fingers multiply and nest
prodigal daughter turns painted toenails into broken shine
wheelchairs made of witch-bone wait along the cinderblock
she is tethered to the weight of memories and moments
while tongues speak antiseptic Latin
I neglect the headlights coming at me in the dark
latent images floating like sour candy
all is never the same, driving no escape route
her drop foot like cement on the brake

“they”

her eyes face the pavement
“they” whisper
in booming voices
secrets no one could know
cutting 
tearing at her invisible flesh
piece by piece
bit by bit

the backside of her heart vacant
“they” say
“they” laugh
“they” commune
“they” cackle
exhaling poisonous fumes
their souls
shriveling with each round

this assault will continue
as must she

Dolores/oilthis 4’x’3 painting is almost 30 years old – one of my dear sisters allowed me to stretch and contort her beautiful face for the purposes of art
where I have common brown – dolores’ eyes are beautiful blue

this verse was published last year, I reworked it extensively
every time I return to my older poems – I cringe a little, laugh sometimes, then rewrite