I wish I could unknow you --

not forget you,

unknow you.



There must be within me a way

to rid the passages in my heart

of the song of your voice and

the thrill of your kiss;

to erase the poetry of your breath.

There must be a way to unknow these things.

No refuge exists in forgetting;

the memories hold fast, linger deep within,

climbing to the surface

when I can least bear the emotion.



The unknowing of you

would… Continue

I hold tight to a hot coal of the past

I cannot set it free.

It burns through my skin, melding to sinew and bone

becoming a part of who I am. (The

legacy of who you are to me. )

The heat of it smolders through my soul,

smoke curling through my veins, rushing through my

body with each heartbeat, clouding my perception

of what is real, what is believed.

I search for healing in you –

a graft of comfort, a pittance of peace – but

you pick at… Continue

Why do we write? A fellow writer once posed this question to those who write and read his blog. You can imagine the long and varied list of replies he received - some more coherent than others. I read through the responses, contemplated my own reasons for writing, and answered with a quote by Alice James: I think if I get into the habit of writing a bit about what happens, or rather what doesn't happen, I may lose a little of the sense of loneliness and desolation which abides in… Continue

Once, when no one was looking

I pretended



each day you whisper

good morning with a sunshine smile

and make me an I- love- you breakfast of

banana pancakes with maple syrup and

a big glass of milk

(would you laugh at my milk mustache?)

and we spend our just- the- two- of- us days

walking and skipping and hopscotching

and singing silly songs in the park and

have a peanut butter and jelly picnic with

cheetos and chocolate chip… Continue