The Goddess
“No one will listen to me! They keep ignoring me!” My youngest screams through his weeping as he gets out of the pool at the
September 6, 2019
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“No one will listen to me! They keep ignoring me!” My youngest screams through his weeping as he gets out of the pool at the
My six-year-old son would like to kill his mother and brother. I get it. Somewhere in my fractured psyche there is a killer. My Calvin
There is so much to fear. Mainly death, but other things too – divorce, a wasted life, the hatred of your children, serial killers –
We lie in bed together in the dark. Your disappointment rages, so I make an effort. “What’s wrong?” I press half-heartedly. You answer, “you locked yourself
Brother, you sit across from your repentant mentor – our brother too, in the coffee shop where I write. He tells you about salvation. About
I am responsible for you my brother, my sister. You are responsible for me. We are one. We are together titanic and easily sunk. But
My eyes open to a light rain and mockingbird song. In the moment it takes for sleep to fall from the crevices of my consciousness,
Let us live intestinally. Our body’s peristalsis sinking the fullness of life down into us. Our villi with their tiny networks of capillaries slowly consuming
In praise of this one breath I sing. In praise of one more moment of life. One more clamping and opening of our chambered hearts.
At 7:00 AM I hear the padding of miniature feet on wood floors to my right. It is the youngest. Not yet past the ache
My mind will not be tamed today. Scenes keep popping up. An imagined smart ass comment to my boss. A dying Episcopal Church and the
Let us gather wisdom at her required pace, not ours. In nature there is often a slow growth followed by an explosion of color –
In praise of the unloved I sing. In praise of the drunks and addicts gathering in the circles of seven-step programs. In praise of the
Let us beware the impulse to stamp out the light in a child’s eyes. The world is more beautiful for children. And we despise them
We do not find the kingdom of God in the usual places – It is not in Simon the Zealot’s dream of revolution nor in
Dear old man sweeping the street in front of the Murray Hill Theater, You found it in your body, aching no doubt with age, to
In praise of maggots, those illustrious eaters of the dead I sing. For while we destroy the earth, they will persist and feed on the
In praise of the unformed thought I sing. In praise of its black abyss of potential. In praise of the weakness that keeps me from
In praise of my boys razor scootering in the house I sing. Slowly destroying the hardwood floors. One more thing I’ll have to fix if
In praise of the silent mystery of songs extinct I sing. In praise of their brutal sound – their dead silent blank. In praise of