In the beginning
I leaned on every
word you spoke
as if it was
the first time
I heard the sound
of love.

In the beginning
I listened
in between the lines
and felt
there was hope.

In the beginning
I skipped along
seeking more of you
encouraged by
being seen.

In the beginning
there was little doubt
we built a bridge
of safe and secure.

But all beginnings
lead to a middle
and there
I wasn’t sure.

You’d make promises
and forget and deny
you’d boast
and forget
what I didn’t have.

You tainted the purity of our glass…

Just about everyone wants to be part of a healthy, respectful, and emotionally intimate relationship. Emotional intimacy is nurtured in the spark of innocence, the goofy side of our being, and the willingness to share the tender underbelly of our soul. We let down our guard, and with that, worry less about being chided, dismissed, or ignored. When there’s emotional intimacy, there’s freedom for us to explore.

Thinking over the years, I can conjure up those who have been there for me in this way. Not only did they listen and believe in me, but they also encouraged me to…

When I can’t fall asleep at night, I tell myself a story. I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. I realize this is my form of self-soothing. As my children grew, I taught them the art of storytelling and how is soothes.

This whimsical way of calming myself is a titration; like a homeopathic remedy gifted from somewhere deep inside. Drip, drip, drip goes the elixir into a swirl of dreaming, stepping further and further away from the daily busy.

By telling myself a story, I’m slowing myself down. My breathing becomes one with the waves…

I love
the unexpected beauty
of an umbrella of blooms

overhead
next to me
close to me
I become
their elegance

fully natural
shameless
truer to self

those blushing hues
welcome
a personal dance

with warm branches
reaching
reaching almost seamlessly

into an escapade
not holding back
just being real

with buds bursting
their juicy ripeness
beholden by an inner fire

letting go
setting free
my deepest desires

Here are two more poems that I hope you enjoy. The first is a playful one written at the beginning of Spring. The second one is a midsummer poem from last year…

ESSAY | POEM

For the last week or so, I’ve added evening walks in addition to my late morning walks — what a delightful way to turn down the volume of a full day of thinking. On one of my jaunts, I started to hum a little. Colors appeared brighter, my shoulders relaxed, and I felt my feet exchanging contact with the earth.

Here, in the Pacific Northwest of Washington State, spring is springing with a sense of hope. People are out and about. Under our masks, we wave and give each other a head nod of acknowledgment. Others are outside tidying up…

There’s a soft spell of silence
it soaks under the sleepiness
of this morn.

A stillness of smooth waters
quietly touches the edges
of my inner seas.

Spring stretches her arms
over the horizon
sighing with the sun’s warmth.

Louder than before
a sadness, perhaps loneliness
brushes with the wind’s wings.

Midlife’s questions wonder aloud
is this it?
Or is there more?

What if this moment
is the parchment asking
for a love note?

Warm tears nod yes
with this loud silence
one cup
one fork
one egg

Wanting and waiting to share this soft spell of silence to soak…

I know when I have not been seen. I recognize the feeling of being invisible and ignored. I’ve been compared to others who are thinner, younger, those who have more credentials, and more wealth. I’ve been told to shut up when a man is speaking because they are more valuable. I’ve been stood up, left behind, and not picked for a sports team.

I know, I know, I know the feeling of not being seen.

Being not seen starts way too early in life. We are overlooked, dismissed for a promotion because of our race and gender. Too often, I…

The soil was soaked
after copious months
of rain, flurries, and sleet.

Spring felt sleepy
under the weight
of sun’s gentle heat.

The muddy sediments
reminded me
to firmly plant my feet.

Weeds sprouted
their wiry elegance
plotting to plant their feat.

I plucked them one by one
into a brown bag
although sad, they were had.

My breath breathed with the earth.
Sentimental flickers of
emerald buds hinted their birth.

With each weed plucked and plopped
my focus became less and less
about extraneous worry of this and that.

Spring unearthed the dreamer to follow the puddles curled around…