Sadie’s Surrender

Sadie was swept away in the flow

The flow of her early morning run under the moon

The flow of the hum in her kitchen

Her children’s voices

Pots, pans

And the constant glow from that candle

Always lit

Reminding her to see the light

The flow of the arms she had around her

One always seemed to be

Around her waist or across her back

Except sometimes

Sadie was lonely

But even loneliness was part of the flow

(Have you ever noticed

A long shower can help

Hot rushing water

Feels best when it meets

Rising warm inner sadness)

Sadie was swept away in the flow

The flow of Beauty

The smooth rushing tides of her happiness

And yes her sadness was part of the flow

It had become very clear to Sadie

That she didn’t ever want to stop—

Sadie wanted to go with the flow.

To Be

To follow my fear

Is running from myself

Heart contracts

I disappear

I cease to Be.


To follow my frustration

Is gyrating in one place

Heart sighs

I search

I hope to Be.


To follow my  sweet longing

Is swimming in the sea

Heart explodes

I melt


To Be.

Off to School

Sometimes words may catch you

Slung unskillfully in love

You may weep with their sting

But you will not break.



Close your eyes

Look within…


She will always meet you

With her grace filled embrace

The wounded side of your mind

Pressed deep into her chest

Your other cheek exposed

Will glow with happiness.

Her Tattoo

What a gift you just gave

revealing so gently

your birthday present to yourself

miles traveled

because he didn’t use black

indigo flowers cascading

like grace feathers

down your side.


When I focus on the superficial

I have conversations about countertops

When I am at peace with my weeping heart

I hear stories from other weeping women.


Warm tears washing over soft skin

Feeling, reflecting, forgiveness

Then Change

The gift is in knowing

Really knowing

That the cries of women

Point in the direction

Of healing our world.


As I get her ready in the morning

She starts to chant “I want my baby, I want my baby”

No longer able to keep it in

Her most painful thought bubbles out and becomes the mantra of her senility

You, beautiful, Dear One, you are not alone

There are so many coerced women who have been scalded

We spend our lives pushing those same words down into our safe place

Where no one needs to know our sons and daughters are now gone.


Dear One,

I bought some land in a large field surrounded by mountains

Today I am taking you there

All the other empty women will walk with us

And push the wheelbarrows that carry our stones

Listen, for we will hold each other in the sun

And tell each other all of our sad stories.


Dear One,

Let me hold you as you weep for the many, many years you must have missed your son

We will stay together in this perfect place until you are finally able to forgive

Then watch as we dig the grass and plant new beautiful robust flowers.

Mermaid Poem (rewrite with photos)

The mermaid inside me has a son

He lies warm nestled beside her

His cheeks so pink

Held close to the glow of her heart fire

Her love notes

Open pure whole

Flow like water across his open ears

A perfect lullaby


Calming all of her baby’s tiny breaths

From her days spent swimming in the swift salted sea

Her hands are butter soft

Her arms’ grasp is as strong as steel

Curled up against his mother’s body

The boy is kissed by gentleness

And he is hugged with the strength of giants

In her right care

No severe ocean and all the danger that it holds

Will ever touch this baby

The mermaid inside me always keeps her son warm, soothed and safe.

My Grandmother’s Plum Pudding


a young girl from Maine

(boiled vegetables and ham),

harbored such sweet, sweet mystery

as that which was my grandmother’s plum pudding.


Late in October

(away from the rest of life)

we would assemble the ingredients

black pepper, cloves, currents and citron

dark and luxurious

all the things so young I had not tasted

yet yearned for

she gave to me

trusting me to grind the suet

pour the brandy

and steam.


My grandmother would always take the pudding to the basement

to wait for the holiday

when she could carry it upstairs

and place it on crystal

setting it on blue fire next to a sprig of holly.


I ate it with hard sauce

so densely sweet next to the black stinging tang of the pudding.

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