HeartStrung

 wind blows through the pines transporting me to mountains: Colorado sky

sewing machine hums stitching fabric together: my favorite new clothes

I am at the dentist’s office, reclined in a dental chair, about to get my teeth cleaned. She leans over my face with her arms at the ready and starts talking. I look into her eyes, through the face shield, picturing her whole face under the mask from her freckles to her smile lines; all the unique features of her face as far as I can remember them.  She is telling me about pandemic life.  “...and while we waited for my daughter’s COVID test results I started spiraling. I started thinking we were going to have to quarantine in the house again and I just lost it. I can’t do that again. I have PTSD from when the country shut down in March,” she tells me. I’ve never been so grateful to have her hands in my mouth during a conversation before because I don’t know what to say. Hearing people talk about their experiences with the pandemic and its effects on our lives feels surreal to me. Time and again I am struck speechless to someone’s COVID revelation. There are just so many parallels betwe

  A pile of stink gets spun around in a tub and comes out refreshed

Mantra by Lisa Olivera I spent most of yesterday in the closet. Hours at a time, I sat huddled in the corner beneath the hanging clothes, my head resting against the wall. Or folded in on myself, sandwiched in the little space between piles of clutter, where I had to put a small pillow behind me to keep the clutter from poking me in the back. And once, with my back against the door, my head resting on my legs, snot dripping onto my sweats.  Always with the light off.  Where the idea originally came from, I don’t know.  The first time, I was a child, maybe 8 years old and I slid my closet door open and crawled inside and underneath the shelf in the corner and I took my blanket and my teddy with me and I eventually fell asleep, after all my feelings were spent.  It became a regular occurrence after that, crawling into the safety of a closet, in the dark where I am the only critic of my feelings and the only savior of myself. Whenever I was sad or mad or overwhelmed or if I wanted to disa

tiny thorn pokes heel inside sock, inside sneaker as foot touches ground

  when my mind spins 'round I write haiku in my head instead of sleeping . . .

I sat on the curb lit by porch lights and street lamps but couldn't see stars

word s whispered in wind carried home on swirling breeze: I miss you, my love

woman of few words  speaks at length to listeners but still feels unheard

when sun setting comes heads turn, mouths become silent we breathe in the sky

One day of my life as seen through haiku. 4 a.m. warm sheets, quiet house cats cry, ready to go out I am half asleep 5 a.m.  clicking corner fan I count, 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 when will sleep return? 6 a.m. cat knocking at door tap, tap, tap, I rise again she goes straight to food back down in bed now my body aches head to toe; stiff joints are the worst 8 a.m. click, squeak, rustle, snap; little sounds bring me awake everyone is up time for me to rise there are things to do today; nothing important 9 a.m. cutting table out strewn with paper and fabric I’m ready to work (but . . . )  motivation lacks scissors remain on table; I’m indecisive 10 a.m. warm water on skin sweet mimosa flower smell my body gets clean joints no longer ache I can reach my feet again and have no tick bites 11 a.m. daughter emerges lunch time from virtual school; different every day an interruption: Florida calls for Andre . . . it's still wrong number 12 p.m. juicy tomato oozes liquid as it'

crisp cool cotton sheet light creeping up horizon eyes open slowly

frosted window panes crisp white grasses frozen stiff: first frost of autumn

at night when you dream you dream with your whole body it keeps me awake

The rain comes      it streaks down the window pane and taps on the roof. People run     their muscles flexing and contracting with each extended stride         like works of art in motion,             but they all still get wet. A man crossing the parking lot       loses his shoe          o ne...two...three steps                 before he realizes his wet foot. A man with a beard,      pale skin in shorts,           walks casually through the down pour               c arrying his paper bag of goods                     from the top. He feels some small giving-way     and quickly reaches down to hold the bottom          before the whole thing falls out. Lightening strikes     t hunder  cracks through the sky           and I duck               though I am safely inside my car                    and thunder cannot harm me. And then the rain stops. Children jump in puddles          soaking their pants, their shoes               shouting with joy and full of play Adults slow their walking  

 I have been sewing a lot lately. It is a feel good activity for me with the added bonus of a new, finished something at the end. While I have known how to sew for the large majority of my life, sewing is one of those wonderful activities for which there is always more to learn, whether it be a new construction technique or a new method or a new tool. There is always another thing out there that I didn't yet learn or another product that I haven't yet tried to make. This is a big reason why I never really tire of the act of sewing. I may get tired of making a particular thing (um, hi, face masks...I'm looking at you) but, pick a new goal and it's like a totally fresh game. I love that about sewing. Sewing is also a little bit like life.  When we're born into the world we don't know how to do life but here we are and we just begin with the very first thing: breath. And then we just keep going forward from there. Learning as we go. There is always something new to

  Dear Reader, Are you out there?  This month in my writing group our theme is "Trust" and I have so much to say on this theme. First off though, I wanted to address you because I have failed you by disappearing, again . I remember when I first got sick and I was desperately searching for answers and connections and really just anyone or anything that could relate, blogs were such a safe haven for me. Every once in a while I would find one that sounded like me and I would devour it, post by post, hoping for answers for myself. There was one I will never forget. The writer described almost exactly the same symptoms and progressions as me. It was incredible. But then the posts just stopped. The writer never said if they got a diagnosis. They never said if they got resolution. They never said if they got sicker or more well. I was left just hanging there wondering, which was all too similar to the same experience I was having with my body. It was so...disappointing and discourag