About Me

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I write, mostly to keep my head from exploding. It threatens to do that a lot. My blog is the pixelated version of all the voices in my head. I tend to dive into what connects me to God, my community, my family and my doubt. I do a lot of searching, not as much finding. I’m good with that. I have learned, finally, to live comfortably in the gray. In the meantime, I wrestle with God, and my doubt and my joy.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Collateral Damage

God, but I was thirsty -
thirstier than I'd ever been,
I heard my young one cry out
"Mama!"
And even my tears
turned to rust
just like the river,
just like the Sea.
But it's ok;
this isn't meant for me.
This is a plague
for the Powers that Be -
the King of Stones and Sun.
We merely wait,
Collateral damage.

The stink of rot is strong,
but I can be stronger still,
tho my skin is marked
by runnels of rusted red,
testament to the itch
and sting
of all those things
that fly
and crawl
and skeetch across
my body.
And my baby cries -
weakly, tired from all
the swatting
and swelling
and fear.
but this is a plague
for the King of
Stones and Sun.

I thought  the rains would
bring a cleansing,
curtain of water
and life, but no:
the storms came, with
searing hail that
burned my skin
and tore through the land,
leaving little for the
locusts to devour,
except perhaps those few
carcasses still left;
cows that had died
Mysteriously.
Plagues are like that;
they steal everything,
even gods that
masquerade as cows.
Even light.
Even life.

And the darkness
weighs like stones
on my back
and I can barely
lift my arms
to shield my young one
from the Ghosts
that haunt the darkness.
She does not cry
any longer.

The King of Sun and Stones
carries these plagues
that have bent him
and bowed him,
that have stolen
his land
and his love
and his son.
His first-born son
the one he loves,
lies lifeless
in his arms,
Collateral
Damage




Thursday, May 19, 2016

Ten Thousand Doors

Ten thousand doors.
Ten thousand rooms.
Ten thousand shades of
Beige, with floors of wood
and wool and pictures on the walls,
framed photos -
that capture time in black and white.
Each carried from room to 

room to ten thousand rooms 
of endless beige,
carried trough ten thousand
doors that open and close:
Pictures to capture
a life, of whispers and sighs,
of moments framed by light and

coffee cup clutter. 

An infinity of doors and walls
and pictures hung,
Suspended, bursting with
Life, of whispered
hope and shouted sighs,
that pierce the walls 

built 'round my heart.

And laced through all that
dust and coffee cup clutter,
through ten thousand doors.
and ten thousand
 rooms
of ten thousand shades of 
infinite, endless color and beige,
There is you.
Ten thousand doors and you,
the home of my heart.


Friday, May 6, 2016

Counting Infinity - in honor of Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day

I wonder about the
infinity of light
that shattered
in a single Breath -
and the dust of Adam
that scattered, a
sweeping whirlwind of
limitless everywhere upon
the earth, and the stars
that Abraham counted -
numberless,
and distant,
and cold fire.

We counted
time by moonlight
and threads of
blue -
Exquisitely finite
and eternal,
a holy cadence
of one
plus one
plus one again
a never-ending measure
of binding
and grace.

So I wonder,
with all the counting
of all the endlessness
of stars and dust
and light
and time
and one
plus one
plus One -

what happens when
six million -
when twelve million -
when a thousand -
when a single
one
disappears


from infinity