So far

So far

most of the time 

I am strong enough

In so many moments of difficulty 

that rise day to day

I know how to pull up my grit

from the depths of me 

But there are times

that my serving spoon

scrapes the bottom of the pot

and lifting the ladle 

becomes exhausting 

Questions stir 

Why don't I get to let the panic rise in my chest like hunger

Why don't I get to ask 

Why 

out loud 

in a pleading voice 

that sounds the bitter taste

of the desperation I sometimes feel 

about how difficult things are 

how difficult things can be

I want to ball up my fists 

and pound the table on either side of the plate

that sits in front of me 

I want to rattle and bounce 

the silverware and china 

at the place that I have set 

with the dinner 

that I have made 

and scream 

no 

this is not what I wanted 

Why can't I have what I wanted?

I didn't get the recipe right 

This isn't what it is supposed to taste like

Why don't I get to crumble like my culinary failings 

Why don't I get to curl up

into defeat 

and plead with the head chef

Please, please, please 

let me try it again

However, I know 

that you can't make the same meal twice 

it's impossible

If I discard the first mess

without appreciating all of its subtlety

fully and completely 

then I will still be hungry

So instead 

I take a deep breath

I sit down at the placemat I have made 

from old napkin scraps of previous savoring 

Pick up the knife and fork 

which wait patiently 

beside each side of the serving

I use both utensils 

Prepare my fork with all the ingredients

and slowly take a bite 

I identify all the flavors

The ones I got right 

and the ones I did not

I taste the understanding 

of how all the nuances are now mixed together 

creating something unique 

a whole and complete dish

and I allow my whole heart to break

for the perfections and imperfections 

for my abilities and inabilities 

for the gift of this moment 

that may be irreplaceable 

Now I will have this refection 

I will clean my platter

I will clear my table

I will fill the sink with hot soapy water

I will scrub the pots and pans

And if I am so lucky

to be granted another day 

in the kitchen 

I will welcome the pangs 

I will open the pantry

pull out the recipe books 

and get to work preparing

the next most delicious feast 

that I have ever made

So far

Queen

There is a game

we all are trained to play

We become

chess masters 

from the very beginning

We learn 

what we are supposed to 

to be seen and not heard

Do what I say and not what I do

The rules are laid out

from the slightest disapproving glance

to a blistering backhand

We are engrained
inscripted
accutely
cognitively
encoded
with directions
on how to

curb
smooth

edit 

censor

and gage 

the truth
before we even know what it is

and then, before we know it

we cannot handle it

we can't handle hearing it 

and we can't handle telling it 
which is a shame

because if you leave this 
human 
being

without telling your whole truth 

the raw truth 

the pure truth 

about who you really are 

then your time here 

will feel incomplete 
you will writhe like so many others
in your uncomfortable death bed

Your travels to the other side 

made even more painful and rough

and is death not scary enough?

When I am finally laid out

I hope to rest in peace 

because I surely do not right now 

for those in my life 

who will not tell me their truth 

because they can't

they won't

they shouldn't 

they're afraid 

they don't understand 

or they do
stink to high heaven

because they are full of bullshit 

I 

will 

not 

waste 

your 

time

because I refuse to waste mine

So 

do 

not 

waste 

my 

time

because you should not waste your own

Life is too priceless

to spend on mindless exercise 

such as strategy

I am not a pawn that begins battles for you 

or a knight who serves and protects

I am not a sly rook

Nor a stable bishop

Certainly not an idle king

I am a Queen 

who can move in 
any 
direction 
she wants

So if you approach me with the mindset of playing a game

be ready for what I toss back at you 

because my life doesn't follow the rules

my truth usually breaks them 

and I am tired 
of trying to figure out my opponents strategy 

Life isn't a game to me

You may be having fun

but be careful 

Consider this your fair warning 

I 
have 
nothing 
more
to 
lose

and that may make me dangerous 

because I 
am not playing

anymore.

Golden Apple Work - Monotypes

Golden Apple Residency Work - Painting studies

Now

I don't recognize who I am anymore 

I used to walk fast

I had a quick determined gate

Long strides

leaning forward

I had places to go

Where
I do not know

Now 
I find myself in a strangers lumber

I stand taller

My chin is lifted

but my jaw is not set

nearly as often

My hips are settled and sway

I walk in relative slow motion 

In relaxed contemplation

I think 

'who's skin is this 
that I am so comfortable in?'

I used to smile a lot

Not that it was unnatural 

or forced

but I felt the impulse to lift someone's face 

before I even saw them

My dentist would ask me

'Do you grind your teeth when you sleep?'

and I thought 

I don't know about at night

but I sure as hell do during the day

Now 
when I see someone

I wait

I look first

To see who they are

To see where they are

because maybe a smile 

isn't appropriate 

for them 

or for me

I am conscious of my own space first

Aware of my soul as it extends out ahead of me

I allow it to signal back to my heart and mind 

Just before my body catches up
A little easier to do
Now 
that my pace is slower

I used to joke about everything 

'Cause everything was funny to me

Anything can be

if you look at it that way

But my jokes were made of steel

Armed with raw truths

Stocked with personal insight

Jumping the gun 

with depreciation 

before anyone else could even think to load

I still fall back sometimes

from flesh wounds 

self inflicted by my own revolver

Now
it's more like Russian roulette 

Most of my jokes light 

like the air in an empty cylinder case

Harmful to no one

except for a single bullet 

I save for myself 

when an unfamiliar duel 

introduces itself

All I can do
is continue to 
pull my gun out of its holster

and throw it in the dirt

Now 
that I think about it

maybe I should just take off the damn holster

I used to have lots of opinions

Be brave 
I thought

Speak up

Let your voice be heard
I would say to myself

and every time I did

My heart would pound

My hands would shake

My mouth would run dry

as my mind scrambled 

to find the perfect things to say

Now 
I listen 

I listen longer

Harder...or maybe softer

More completely... I hope

I listen to what others are saying

and what they are not

I resist the urge to fill the silence

with wit or intellect

Instead

I listen to what my heart murmurs 

Underneath the heart attack of my thoughts 

I listen for what I need to say

Regardless of whether it's right or wrong

Sometimes I don't have to say anything at all

I spent the first half of my life digging for a voice

That got buried a long time ago

and it's funny
Now 
that it has been unearthed

I don't feel the need to use it all the time

The cadavers of the past are much too heavy to drag around

It is unnecessary energy spent on forward momentum 

which only makes me aware of the weight that is pulling me back 

when all I am trying to do is walk
upright

from one minute to the next

Slow time down as much as I can

so my soul can move forward

Just enough 
to be able to seeee meeeeee

Even if I only exist
Now
within the moment

within the motion 

within the movement 

of walking