of murderers and midwives

i pick up the knife and pierce what is right in front of me.  the practice of killing time becomes a habit and is it possible to murder a minute, an hour, a day?  could i leave months and years bleeding behind me? time arrives faithfully every second hoping for better treatment, for mercy –

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stopping on the wine trail

i’m burying them in the sand. i’ve dug three holes and they fit themselves into them, water pooling around their feet. i push the sand back around their frames and i see my arm there, my hand, pushing wet sand. i can’t count the sand on the seashore and i can’t number the stars in

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herding butterflies

if my life were dusted for prints what would the evidence point to? where would you find me most of the time? there would be a lot of prints on the computer, on my iphone. you would find my steering wheel covered as i head here or there. my pots and pans would be heavy

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quiet time

it’s officially the middle of july. every summer i wonder if i’ll forget what it was like to pull on boots or wrap a scarf around my face. every summer i do. it can take a while. i’ve lost track of the days. children wake up late sun-kissed from the fun of the day before.

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he won’t give up

in my mother’s garden there is whiskey. strawberry whiskey.  it sits in the sun alongside the flowers.  she makes it every year and we sit in the flowers and we toast another year gone by. celebrating.  it’s was a theme of my childhood.  rejoicing in the everyday.  my parents, and many an addict, are proponents

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tall as the corn

there is so much sunlight now. every morning, every night. i wake up feeling like i’ve overslept even though it’s 6 am. i kind of miss the dark night and dark mornings. summer is upon us. i’m adjusting to the light, to the sun. i’m coming out of hibernation to find my three children looking

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gone fishing

for all the days of wandering, i’m struggling just to keep up with little things – dishes, packing for the next trip out of town, writing… today i’m letting go of getting it all together and trying not to let it worry me.  there are wildflowers growing right now that never will be looked upon,

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friends mothers sisters

the tide has inched its way up and we were talking.  we didn’t notice how it soaked the edges of our towels. it gets pulled back to its center, straight into the heart of the ocean, leaving clams and shells and sand dollars, water running off each side. all these gifts from the sea. “watch

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mother water

now she has five grandchildren.  she was one of six and had two children herself.  her children’s children gather around her and in their honest moments if you ask them who their favorite person is, they’ll all say the same thing, “buscia.”  you say it this way – (boo-shah.) she looks at these children and

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