Ghosts of Winters Past I remember the Christmas when I awoke to see a shiny new toboggan standing tall beside the tree and winter breaks spent sliding down a frozen hill where neighborhood kids could all be found rosy cheeks and tingling toes under sunny skies at ten degrees below boots trudging and crunching through
Dan couldn’t see the curves of the bay through the driving rain. The storm was getting worse, and Jenni was out there. He hoped she would circle round and wait. She was experienced; she’d know what to do. The rocks at the end of the bay disappeared into the waves. Dan caught sight of a
Weather Report While the meteorologists stood there pointing at their forecasts on the local news stations, people were making dinner, tossing treats to their cats, filling dog bowls, reminding kids to do their homework, & stretching their heads to get a glimpse of the mundane weather report: one more cloudless day, no rain in sight,
Lights shining in the distance, Leading people to dance, Eating delicious food, Along with friends and family, People praying to god, Surrounded by bright colors, Arrays of flowers, Gifts are given, Fireworks illuminate the sky, The feeling of happiness, Spreads through people, Diwali is here.
The twelve-year-old boys and girls sat on the ground in a semi-circle with their fathers sitting behind them, facing the king. The king was seated on the royal throne in full regalia — leopard-skin cape, lion-tooth necklace, golden bracelets encrusted with jewels on both his wrists and ankles, his scepter was made of zebra wood
Easter morning you pull on black hoodie, force calloused feet into red Reebocks, deny three times you’re in a rush, blow off brunch. No leg of lamb for this eighteen-year-old. I slip an oversized card into my purse. Easter, after all, is about hope. I envision you sauntering past hostess stand, late, table for four,
instead of sorrow, i will mark the day with ceremony, from the moment of waking to the feel of my body’s curl under darkening covers i will breathe ritual, so that even coffee’s steam will recognize its incense, offer grounding, so that even work will fall into quiet rhythm. instead of tears i will laugh
the moments in between time as i become two my midwife tells me this is transition but words don’t happen in the moments of birthing moments don’t happen time is but a marker on my midwife’s watch 60 seconds 10 centimetres heart rate. contraction. push. time doesn’t happen in birthing. birthing happens outside outside and
roots , flesh and grain offered up as sacrifice by ritual of fire upon white hot coals aromatic with mysterious unguents the high priest turns and gathers them with implements of sacred wood and iron prepares them with anointments of secret herbs and lotions with eyes and hands by ancient signs examines them announcing at