When I was invisible,
I could go anywhere, do anything: stretch, yawn, write, wander
Where the wandering invited me to go and I did,
Confident in my invisible alone.
When she asked me that question, I stammered polite
Evasion of what I knew to be true, but didn’t want to admit
To anyone else — never mind myself.
The worst thing was feeling visible
In my grubby reality with scrunched-up words
And hollow dreams I carried because I always had carried them
When I was invisible and I could drag along anything I wanted
With no worries about anyone witnessing my terrible alone…
Maybe it’s too soon.
I don’t think so, but that doesn’t mean I’m right.
What do you think?
Are you willing to play, to take a chance on what is growing between us
Like rampant cucumber, exuberant begonias, grinning geraniums?
I am here as best that I can be: rough and intense and wide open
To possibility because there are so many ways for life to go
And I can’t wait to see what I create with what comes next.
I don’t know where this is going, but I do know it will be fun —
I had plans for my summer vacation: sleep late, hang out with Dylan and Carly, eat lots of ice cream, read the books that I want to read. And if Jake Murphy and I got to hang out, it would be the best summer of my life.
Mainly, I just wanted to do what I want to do when I want to do it. I mean, I’d do my chores, but otherwise I would be in charge of me.
My mother thought differently.
She cannot fathom allowing a teenager to enjoy her summer. It didn’t matter that all my friends…
Marli slid the paperback across the table, through crumbs and coffee rings.
Noah looked at it like he’d never seen a book before. At her smiling nod, he picked it up and flicked through the pages.
“I don’t read,” he told her. His steady tone and unblinking gaze revealed proud truth.
“Don’t or won’t?” Marli gazed deeply into his eyes like the schoolteacher she’d once been.
“Either. Both. Do you want another coffee?” He stood, pushing down his jeans and gazing around the coffeeshop in search of something more interesting.
“Nothing, thanks. Any more coffee and I won’t be able…
I do not resist the call of story, to inhale its magic deep into my belly,
To clutch it in my grubby hand already full of story, but eager for more.
I am not picky about the stories I pick— every person has a story
That only they can tell and I am that receptive wandering child delighted
By rampant, rollicking words enticing me to places I have never been,
Inviting me to join new friends and share my own stories as tribute
To the ones that came before me and walked alongside me
As I wandered fields of home, city sidewalks, and climbed mountains…
The water is too exciting to pretend that it doesn’t invite me
To splash, hurl magic into the air over and over again, exult in
Unpredictable, ever-changing shapes that sluice warm joy.
I cannot resist that call to magic, even when my grown-up implores,
Bribes, and scolds me to understand water as inconvenient obstacle
To the way that things are supposed to be, admired but not plunged,
Not immersed until I am soaked and wild-eyed girl who was combed,
Dressed nicely in the short set now dragging down surrendered pert
Almost all the way to my scabby knees and happy feet that must…
Long ago in a time faraway, I dreamed a wondrous idea.
The dream agreed and gave me you
To love, to teach you as best I could
What you would need to thrive, to be happy
In this strangest and most marvelous
Of all possible worlds.
The dream believed me when I promised it everything:
Wild-eyed shivers of should and must and supposed to be.
I believed me, too.
I dove deep for glistening pearls I knew were beautiful.
They vanished in the sunlight and fresh breeze,
Leaving you stranded and me staring at empty hands. …
Tina roared her 1965 Mustang into my grandmother’s driveway. She hit the brakes and pelted the sagging, two-family house with gravel. Scanning the yard, she pounded the horn and looked up at blank windows.
Us kids jerked back. Tina was Mike’s girlfriend and she wasn’t allowed in the house. Our parents called her bad names when they thought we weren’t listening.
Hidden by heavy curtains, we watched her yank down the visor and pull her Barbie doll bleached blonde hair into a sleek ponytail. Her bright finger nail polish matched her ruby red lips. …
Writes "A snapshot in time we can all relate to - with a twist." Novelist, marketer, business story teller, new product imaginer…