I used to be a nightshade,

slow to rise and rouse myself at daybreak,

active and alert by the light of the moon,

happy to be a nocturnal brute


but mothering lent solitude only at dawn,

and I craved the quiet and calm,

So I rose with the sun and sometimes aforetime,

and now I wilt early – often before nine!


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Their fighting is your inner battle – your own malcontent

when the volume rises and their words get sharp

when your heart seeks shelter and your fingers flutter

let it roll over you


they’ll work it out with fists of hurt

and lash each other with words of stone

until they’re bruised and bloodied


let it roll over you


let it go

it’s theirs

not yours




Riddle Me This


R is for Ridiculous


Here’s a shiny new bowl,

with crushed ice and filtered water

She snubs it – actually walks away –

and seeks water from the murky plant bowl

that captures rainwater,

soil and dead plant parts

daft dog!

dog with water






Photo from Katya Austin

M is for Moving*


My daughter brings books from school

Sherman Alexie and John Cheever

mesmerizing, momentous and magnificent

Indigenous American meets Chekhov of the Suburbs

stories of the malcontents,

the maniacs and the maculate

This teen is spellbound

macrocosms beyond her self now revealed

like I was, when I first split a book in two


*part of my alphabiography series