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Y’all, we’re gettin’ hitched proper this time!

Christmas comfort dance digital photography divinity fairy tales festivities happiness love love poetry medicine mindfulness mourning muse museums Music mythology nature papyrus

01/01/11 NYC Holidays with Family

Photo by MPP


don’t suffer from


poetry says,

festoon that shit

Americana art behavior books cinema Europe family festivities film happiness holidays Jazz literature local color love Music nature parenthood poetry punk relationship studies rituals sociology Southern Gothic traditions travel Urban Legends writing

my tinsel heart

FB_20141221_09_04_48_Saved_Picturethe twenty-seventh day of december

in a year

we did not share together


afterglow of christmas beaming

from the tree

through my scotch-taped-back-together soul


tis the season to ache infinitely


driving through light strands

of red and yellow traffic

to the art museum upon the hill


with the little park beside it

where the son we will never have

took his first wobbly

bear dripping honey grinning steps


into your arms as i watched filming

jumping and cooing the way a mother does

over the littlest triumphs


but we never were, darling

our lips never touched


our breathy kissed love affair

ether white wedding by the sea

raven haired children

are nothing

but a shared

far away dream


an assorted pile of glistening

christmas presents

never to be wrapped

accumulating beneath

my tinsel heart

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends


i knew it was him
before my hand picked up the phone
something in the ring too sentimental
the thanksgiving phone call
undertaken as he stares
at my picture next to his mother’s
on the mantle
both smelling of bourbon
affection and loathing require
equivalent sums of passion
and he hates me
oh god and king henry
how the man hates me
reminding me well and often
with his voice folded within
the what-would-have-been
in the way he can’t help but write angry poems
still hurting from the loss of the baby
and me
with a lump in my throat
not daring to say
i love you

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

love affair

we were driving
near the water
i was green
with a lack of land
begging him to veer away from lighthouses

he never let me drive
but it was okay
because it was one of the ways
he was older than me
and i counted on him for that

leaning in he notices
my pearly white painted fingertips
resting against the tan leather of the car
and says
your nails are beautiful

i say the color is called
love affair
and he says
of course it is, baby girl,
of course it is…