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Celebrating Imagination and the Wonderful, Wild Ride that is Life

Sunday, December 8, 2013

making space for christmas

the house is still groaning
from thanksgiving.
the extra large platters
haven't been returned to their cupboard
and the freezer is pregnant
with leftovers.
its time to make some space.

the spare room
has to be emptied
of its yearly accumulation
of castoff clothing,
empty suitcases,
piles of old towels,
and spring jackets
that have been waiting to be taken to new homes.
its time to make more space.

the shelves need to be emptied
and filled with the collection
that sees daylight for a few weeks each year.
its time to move the furniture
so the tree can be brought in,
boxes can be unpacked,
and the house can sparkle like it should.
we definitely need to make space.

the days are full,
overflowing into nights
from work to store to work to bed to work again.
there are lists filling up pockets,
the calendar,
and the little note pad on the fridge.
but still we need to make space.

greetings need to be sent
with lists of all the space
we made throughout the year
for fun and adventure,
and growth.
we wish everyone
(and silently ourselves)
the gift
of space for those things in their life next year.

our hopes are full
with plans
to watch that stack of movies,
spend an evening over games,
take that long snowy walk,
cook more but eat less,
and this time,
this time
stop and savor
the stars in the polished night sky,
the laughter filling every room,
and the way the tree lights
make you look like a child again.
somehow, somehow
we need to make space.

late, late at night
my bed is full
with thoughts and to dos
seeping out from the previous day's
unfinished work
that buries me deep under the blanket.
never have i more needed to make space.

at first light of morning
a thought like a mouse
burrows its way
into my waking mind,
gnawing, and wriggling,
trying to make space.

so i set aside the pile of lists,
the cookbooks
left unopened,
and ignore the silent call
of the mountain of gifts to wrap.
i sit down
with a cold cup of coffee
and realize
after the letters have landed
on the screen
that i may have done it.

and now
i hope
have you.


just now

we have made


Friday, December 6, 2013


here I am again
back to that smell of fear.
stuck in the waiting place
for my body,
but especially
for my mind.

looking forward
and backward

the familiar feel of the crisp robe
(that makes me feel so small)
dropping from my chest
like a weak curtain
that announces a show about to begin.
boring and rote for the viewer
who repeats the performance
a hundred times a week,
on the same stage,
under the same unfriendly lights.
the only difference
is the prop:


waiting for the cold probing hands.
never the same pair
but always, always
the same,
cold dry and antiseptic,
and now over time
somehow reassuring.
waiting as they flutter over skin,
too personal
yet never taking enough time,
never searching deeply enough.
wanting them to see inside,
to act like a divining rod for sickness.
but that is the fear:
the wanting to be known.
the wanting to be owned by those hands.
to surrender responsibility
and make them make the discovery
and leave me out of it.
but that can never happen.
what is there is always there.

while waiting and wondering
the memories slip out.
the too accurate memories of the first time,
too late,
so scared and alone.
and all the times in between
spent always
with the waiting.
all of those times:
the first
the then
the after
the now
collected together on the same
string of fear.
a fine sharp wire
that pierces each memory
each moment
each breath,
and I balance on it
trying to stay calm
and not fall.

Evidence of a Life