These Soles


“Well, you won’t be a ballerina.” Mother’s first words to her baby daughter who would never meet her approval. Then, in the near-blank baby book besides all the perfunctory measurements, next to ‘Other features:’ was written in cursive disdain, “Tiny bunions — ALREADY!”

I, the unfortunate daughter, never did sashay nor plie into a picturesque graceful life, but I marveled at how the tendons looked mud-caked and sun-baked from wild summer dances in the fields and barefoot mountain climbs. Read More

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Self-Discovery


Passive morning shine
Filters through my religion
Pastel pods release
Eyelashes kissing canvas — Read More

Preface and Grace

Painting by Eileen McGann

I am touched by this shining soul who has written a piece in response to my journey of rape and forgiveness. Honestly, I feel embraced by God after reading Lona’s introspective narrative and poem — a supernatural support I suppose I’ve been seeking ever since writing about that nightmare, the maddening twelve-year healing process, and releasing it to the world; maybe even back to the fateful night itself. I, just one more lost sheep under a fractured and beautiful sky.
So much love to you, Lona Gynt.

Scattered thoughts made a little more random

in Memorium_001 Sometimes the very angels weep, perhaps that is what they mostly do.

Editor’s Note:  (meow) This post starts pleasantly enough, but I need to warn you that it might be a trigger of sadness or anxiety for victims of abuse, assault, or rape.

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Preface:  Hello this is HarveyCat, Lona’s sometime Bodyguard, Conscience, Accountant, Therapist, Public Relations Coordinator, and Editor.  On a late night this last week I was somewhat discomfited because Lona was about 2 hours late in delivering the usual ration of kibble.  I know I give her a hard time about not rendering the proper obsequiousness  to my regal presence, but she really is pretty reliable with the victuals, so even I had to turn my head away from my favorite toasty warm avian surveillance post and see what is going on with her.  (This is not easy to do in the springtime, the air has been filled with…

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Ignite

Amaya, 2007

You who have lived many layers of lifetimes overlying just one body. The serious kid who took pride in her father — and her mother, for granted. The college girl with once a head of “dreamy blonde” highlights who spent her restaurant paycheck on $220 Versace sunglasses, a tank of gas, and a bottle of Bordeaux. The fervent penitent who sought God within church walls… Read More

Waxen

Photography by Charlotte Colbert

All is white these days, the humidifier noise through the night and late January skies, but I’d give my life not to remain a blank slate mirror anymore. Smooth, slippery cold marble surface, not even the Kronos Quartet playing Philip Glass to the much prayed-for snowfall, not even the kids’ laughs or cries, not even my husband saying poetry doesn’t matter can penetrate, or stick, or stain. Albedo one hundred percent. Read More

Storm

Art installation by Angela Glajcar

I black out in Laos w/ the Canadians and awake the next day in some tall grass next to the river w/ Amaya beside me. I can tell she’s upset and my state of mind is so twisted from the night before that I am emotionally numb. She goes right into it and tells me that she was going to leave me in the middle of the night, just get up and walk away and keep going, but Christ told her to stay and she obeyed. At this point in my life I am struggling so much w/ faith and it almost seems to my demented alcohol-soaked brain that she is using Christ to torment me, Read More