#149 – Woman Seventy Six


She walked her
path from west to east,
continually crisscrossed
by painted ladies flying a
scattered diagonal route,
south to north.

Dozens twirled round her body.
Several danced above her head.
Hundreds of butterflies,
flickering orange-gold.







#148 – Woman Seventy Five


She witnessed a silence between them fill up

the air and, uncharacteristically,

recognized her lack of desire

to pierce that space with hollow words.


Suspended in the absence of language,

a tender light transported them,


for a few sweet moments,

up above the world.

#145 – Woman Seventy Two


She mapped her anxieties across a hollow

self-designed system full of data points

in red, green and blue.


A series of algorithms shouted out

music in predictable ways

then skipped through the

timeline to demonstrate sounds

that surprised her.


Boney fingers nervously pressed

the pages together,

creasing the same fold

over and again while

she stuttered across language,


for an appropriate word.

Finally, her songs stopped and

in a difficult


she sighed quietly.


It was over.

#143 – Woman Seventy


Misplaced, stolen, forgotten.

Many precious objects
that she once thought
essential to her life,
were barely touched.

She gave these inanimate things,
a dresser, a cake plate, a rug,
inordinate symbol and spirit,

and struggled to let them go.

Reclaimed, returned, remembered.

#142 – Woman Sixty Nine


Sadness sits right up against their edge.


It follows them inside the grocery store

and it stays,

sits at the table,

while they eat lunch.


It fills their eyes while driving on the freeway

and creeps up on them while in line at the post office.


Grief climbs into the bed and sleeps,

then wakes with them.


Sorrow stays right by their side.

#140 – Woman Sixty Seven


She is a passenger in the car.

The driver is her father, her doctor, her brother, a stranger, her husband, her son, her teacher.

The landscape is familiar as is the journey itself, yet she can’t identify where she is.

She shudders with the sensation of déjà vu and observes as if she is outside of herself.

The car careens down a mountain at an even rate of speed, neither gaining or losing momentum as it turns corners and hits sharp, sudden declines.  Walls of silver rock line the roadway as if the passage has just been blasted open. Thick forests block distant views of any possible destination.

Abruptly, at the end of this long descent, rounding a bend, a great body of water becomes visible.  The car moves across an impossibly low expansion bridge and the anxiety this produces in her, is also recognizable.

She believes that the car is traveling directly on the blue surface of the water – floating on this ocean, this lake, this reservoir.

The trip and the image end here. There is no purpose realized, or a finale to the story.

It fades to black.