Life is not a straight line. It's a downpour of gifts, please – hold out your hand

Thank you for being here. I'm so glad you're here.

Friday, September 12, 2014



In the midst of chopping onions 
and digging unnameable parts 
out of the chicken carcass, before
I'm almost late getting them to soccer practice
I scribble words - words that come from nowhere 
or from some mysterious
somewhere. Words that ask, no - demand 
to be written down

they are here in the shower as I reach dripping 
for my notebook, here
in the wanting kitchen when he 
tells me about his day. Here 
when I should be 
focused on driving 
rather than taking dictation 

I am a drunk driver swerving 
from too many
words, words that tumble
and spill and ask, no - beg
to be heard. 

I say to God
or whatever it is
that sends them

I pull over the first chance I get 
so that I don't become one of 
those people who kills
while intoxicated and write dizzily
urgently - I don't care 
that my hands smell like raw chicken, even this 
is a metaphor 
for something. I'm sure. After
they all come out
I exhale
saying out loud to the wind

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

*Photo of me in Taos, New Mexico (where my writing journey really began).  Photo taken by Kevin Moul

1 comment :

  1. For all of the times we wish we had inspiration, there are dozens more where it strikes and veers us from our original course.

    <3 to you


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♥ Julia