Once every nine weeks or so, I share Sunday breakfast with my friend, Tureeda. Poet, teacher, storyteller, medicine woman as she'd describe herself. I forgot how our ritual started two years ago, but my heart has relaxed into them for their consistency and the warmth generated at our cell-phone free table and our eye to …
Spook!! There it is…
In the mid 90's, after my mother died, my house was haunted. The only house I'd ever known, The only place I'd felt safe and loved. But at the time there had been a series of deaths-- not in the house, not violent, but all familial, all relatives. My father's death surprised me. And I'm …
Dream Alley
I promised myself to write poems based on dreams. But the one from last night was so fragmented, I'm not sure what to do with it. And my memory of it is weird: am I pulling from different dreams scattered over the last week or did everything happen last night? I pick up my dream …
