I read Bukowski today, a poem for swingers, bookmarked and coffee-stained, living words I once knew by heart. I read Bukowski today, slid him off a dusty shelf and trailed my fingertips along his side, spine cracked and stiffened, a lover neglected. I read Bukowski today just after sunrise, with gritty eyes … More Finding Bukowski
The first boy I ever loved was a Catholic School Bad Boy with a mischievous grin. It was the kind of love that tasted like cherry ChapStick and smelled like clean boy sweat. Not gym bag “my socks have been germinating in here for six months” teen boy but pure and undiluted burgeoning maleness. I … More Cherry ChapStick
“There’s something to be said for letting it simmer. An instant grit is a bad thing.” Author Unknown This, apparently, is a lesson I have yet to learn as evidenced by my latest brief foray into dating. Pretty sure it’s related to more than my ineptitude in the kitchen (did you know baking soda and … More Rogue Tuba: A Brief Interlude
A friend of mine leaned in to inspect my hair the other day to exclaim “Wow, there’s some really blonde ones in there!” I am not a blonde. By blonde she meant gray. I am officially a 35-year-old single woman who often finds herself sleeping on the diagonal in a big king bed. After my birthday I … More Sleeping on the Diagonal: A New Box
Sleeping on the Diagonal 