another 365

a warm, wonderful 2020 to all!❤️

new prose in Cagibi

I’m beyond thrilled and honored to have my prose piece, Postcard from a DMV Parking Lot in New York, published in Cagibi Express! It is a marvelous journal.

NO -ly, a featured poem!

Incredibly honored to have my poem, NO -ly, as the featured poem, in the wonderful poetry magazine, Better Than Starbucks!

 

NO -ly

before touching the door
a kiss to my cheek
be safe leaping out my throat
drive safe
no -ly

off they go alone
maybe with friends   it will be dark later

            obvious-ly, mom

be safe
at the stadium, at school, at the mall, at the fair, on the street,
alone, with your friends, in the city, in the suburbs, in the building,
at the theater, on the road, at the beach, at his house, at her house,
at the airport, on the plane, on the bus, on the boat, in the Uber, in the lake, on the river . . .

be safe
drive safe
without -ly
SAFE
a magnificent bubble shielding their human flesh
a bulletproof amulet delivering them unscathed
be safe
drive safe

we know, you don’t have to tell us every time

yea, I do

Don’t Love Them Too Much

I’ve been gone awhile. Spending many days in the nursing home with my beautiful mom. Hope you’re all well and excited for a colorful Autumn. I’m hard at work trying to pull together a labor-of-love; a poetry collection about care-giving, love, loss and family. I’ve been doing loads of writing offline. As you know, getting published is uphill all the way. So, my friends, onward and upward. ❤️

I’m thrilled to have this piece, Don’t Love Them Too Much, published in the Front Porch Review! Click anywhere here in this red copy and visit the Front Porch Review. Many talented writers visiting the charming home there!

Stronger

Honored to have my poem “Stronger” published in Literary Mama-a beautiful testament to the spirit of motherhood…
“Literary Mama first started to take shape in 2002 as a class called Writing About Motherhood taught in Berkeley, California by Amy Hudock. A group of mothers continued meeting at the conclusion of the class, and within months, had connected with other mother writers who, like them, were producing work that was deemed too complex for glossy parenting magazines and too mother-centric for traditional literary journals.”

“…our current staff of 27 includes women from across the United States, Canada, and Israel. We’re communications professionals, university professors, writers, editors, copy editors, photographers, and moms. Our contributors hail from all corners of the world.”

Stronger

a worn woman stands in my mirror
half-cocked smile working its way to the corners
my mother deserves a joyful daughter
my mother, the one in the mechanical bed
I remember a version of me
standing tall with my broad frame and big hands
(gifts from my dad)
ready to take on life’s traveling circus
I fancied myself a carnival strong-woman
all muscles and charisma

what of this beaten figure confiscating my reflection
proud shoulders curving toward the dirt
hands large like her father’s, now achy and brittle

I long for a return to those 360-mirror days
sauntering like a big cat
pumping fierce iron
positive in mind and powerful in body
yet here I am with the memory
unable to ignite the revival
my beloved weights, big stacks once impressive to many
abandoned on a cold gym floor somewhere

still I lift every day
my mother’s broken body like a heaving sack of flour

from bed to wheelchair to commode
up and down up and down
up ramps down ramps side ramps
in around and back again

with each passing day
I grow stronger

 

Gary

“Gary Paul Geidel (December 11, 1956 – September 11, 2001) was a New York City Fire Department firefighter killed during the September 11 attacks shortly before scheduled retirement. His brother Ralph Geidel, also a firefighter, helped in the 9/11 rescue effort as well and around 2014 died of complications attributed to toxins he inhaled at the scene.”  Wikipedia

I did not know Gary personally, I did not know his family, I painted this for a friend’s mother who knew Gary’s mom very well.
My father’s cousin’s husband was in one of the towers – he didn’t work there – he’d been there only for an interview – on 9/11 his story changed to past tense

I am vain

This piece inspired by my face, currently a disaster of stress rash. Apparently, holding back, in an attempt to be monstrously strong, isn’t good for you. I can now use my face like a 70’s mood ring. Never believed I was vain, but lately I’m hiding in the shadows along with my creatures.