We were in a pool

and my pillowy body felt welcome and accepting in your arms

We kissed and hugged and groped and tugged

(I did other things to you too)

A deep acceptance and a trying-this-on

And then you left

to have some pie with another

in a booth, just you two

and I waited and waited

and then went to look

and you both were gone

The rest of the dream

was spent with me trying to find you

Suddenly, there was a flea market of sorts / marathon type bazaar (bizarre)

booth with trinkets, people lining up to race, all at once, all together

(so easy and seamless in dreams)

and I started to jog to impress you

I passed you in your well-dressed suit

you were speaking on the phone

you liked speaking on the phone

you were not into me

you avoided me

you let me know

and my heart hurts…

I ate candy, drank wine

played music and wept

hard reality and distance of heart and mind setting in

I am a fool.

Pretty. sure.

Probably. not.

You’ve seemed to soften a bit over the past few weeks.

Which is good. We’re back to a little Small Talk. chit chat.

Personal anecdotes are acceptable again.

The leaves are falling as the sun hits them on their way down. Shining in their death fall. There is beauty and grace in things dying, in letting go.

The sun will still shine for you. You are still alright.

You are still there, just in a different place. On the ground.

Others join you, nestle around you in the cold.

You are never truly alone. Death is regenerative and feeds a different life cycle.

Maybe our time will come again in a different life form.

Maybe it’s time I say goodbye to my fantasy.

Have fun at the campfire with your girls; throw something on the grill for me.

I will be here, trying to build my own fire without you.

Dirt road

The thing is

I love you.

I love you, it’s true.

I cried this morning when I spoke with you.

Tears formed because I couldn’t handle you.

Your words shook me to my core. Reassurance, stability, good nature, introspection…

that’s what I’m searching for.

I’ve found it you; my heart is blue.

Never shall our lips meet, never shall our limbs lock.

Soft caresses, sweet nothings, deep feelings, silly smiles

Grand hikes, world travels, bills and budgets, hotels and homes.

Gardens and eggs and wine and chocolate.

Lettuce and hot sauce and enchiladas and sizzling bacon.

Hot stove, cold, sweating glass of ice water.

My heart leaps over and over in disillusion and reality of you

Lemonade and swings, dirt and baths.

These things go together, like country songs and old dirt roads.

Like you and me,

in some far off place,

never to be.


all night

fan turning

comforter between my legs

flipping back and forth

getting up to pee

walking aimlessly through the dark halls

grinning from ear to ear in the nightlight’s soft illumination

feeling flutters deep within

and feeling a bit insane

with love

infatuation or lust

(I’ll take the combo, please)

My toddler is sleeping next to me

I curl up into his arms and smell his sweet skin

his chest moves rhythmically up and down

and I latch onto his joy and calm and sweetness

to calm my inner stirrings

ground myself (try)

sleep again (its not goodbye)

just a few winks in this disastrous night

a married mama full of feelings and fright

for what have I done?

it shan’t be good

to wind up alone, knocking on wood

in hopes to reclaim all I threw away

for another reality that surely won’t stay

Continue reading “tossing”


(The other you)

The way-back-when you

I dreamed of you last night

A saying good-bye of sorts (finally, right?)

Just a few sunsets later…

You were marrying her (again)

A few of the wedding guests remembered you and me together (back then)

And still believed in us

And argued with dour faces that I was the one

for you

Even your son, in my dream a blond and well-mannered sweet 8 or 9 year old, made the case

He somehow seemed to know

But you didn’t

Or couldn’t

Or wouldn’t

And I found myself awkwardly wondering why I had been invited

to this whole spectacle to begin with

So I will leave you there, awake now

at the country club and ball

And forgive you and forgo you

for another…



Is that how it is spelled? Is that what is happening? It is. It is.

How did this happen? Close contact – virtual contact through a computer screen. Hashing out ideas, mixing thoughts, baking offerings of thoughtfulness and kindness to each other. You are smart and thoughtful and engaging and calm. You are funny and quick and sexy as fucking hell.

I am lost.

Suddenly, my world has turned upside down. I am a little girl, sprung with dopamine sparkles. Fully aware of the complexity and ridiculousness of my situation – and a probable unrequited one at that, which is the icing on the cake of this shit show.



You are married. I am married. We have children. Families, youthful and happy. Yours. My marriage is not happy. My husband and I don’t have the connection we used to. I was never in love with him in the same way. No sparkles. Just reassurance and safety and a net. But the net is an illusion.

We are all going to die.

Why do we play around?

Why do we not grab each other and start wildly kissing with abandon?

Because though we are racing towards our deaths, as insignificant as the mammoth dinosaur bones you were awestruck over at the museum… we still must participate in reason and the social construct of normalcy.

After all, this isn’t real either.

Or is it?

I highly doubt you have a thought of me in this way. But I did see you looking at me from across the room… you did put your arm around my waist and pull me in for a picture. And this was all surely for naught; for good nature and for happiness to see your friend, but not perchance your lover.

I am sick with illusion. Love sick.

Your wife is impossibly beautiful and thin. And you are happy and love her. My husband is fat and unhealthy and troubled. And I am so tired of living this way.

I am round and soft and old. My tummy hangs and my chin has lines. My eyes are hooded, my teeth crooked, and my thoughts drift wildly to you. I used to be beautiful.

You would never chose me. I live in a world of illusion and fantasy. It’s like trying on a dress that you think makes you look sexy, and then seeing a picture of yourself and realizing how out of shape you are. I’m trying on a man in my brain that is hotter than me. It will never be.

And even if I am wrong and he does think of me when he moans alone, tucking his hands in his warm crotch, his cock throbbing as his hands go up and down, back and forth as he thinks about sticking his tongue in my mouth…

Does that look like two divorces and a new marriage and a blending of broken families and a new life?

Of course not.

Not in my wildest dreams. Life just doesn’t happen that way.

It is far more likely that my illusion is just that – an illusion. Shaped by years of settling and forgoing the deep romance lying dormant in my bones and tissues and blood.

The world is cold and dark and lonely. I will learn the hard way, over and over again.

God knows I love you. So does my Grandma, up in heaven.

They look fondly down on us, at play in the fields of the Lord.

Except they are probably right in whispering to me that it’s just me playing.

And playing with unrequited fire.

So I will set down my sword of heart and spark and desire. I will uncurl my thoughts around your legs, looking into your eyes in my mind one last time.

I will turn and walk away, my black dress with flowers swaying in the breeze. My boots, half unzipped, trudging along the endless dusty city sidewalk.

I’m careful not to step on the cracks.

I turn the corner and I’m blinded by the sun.

mild introduction

I’d like to write about things I love, things that make me feel like my true self inside. Wellfleet. Cape Cod. The ocean. The beach. Croissants with real butter. Dark strong coffee. Strolls along the seaside. Cracking open a bottle of chilled white wine in the kitchen, as I lay out my mis en place and begin to cook. Jazz in the background. Chet Baker, or Coltrane. Ella or Billie. Apron with dusty flour. Sitting in the corner by the window, reading and pausing and reflecting and reminiscing, and reading again. Sipping water. Dancing around. Dreaming of what’s to come. Thinking of him. Playing with my babe, his bouncing blond curls reflecting God’s light. Sunshine on my face. Birds chirping. Smelling salty sea and feeling the humidity in the air, knowing I am close to shore. A cool, pleasant breeze. Sex. Satisfying, soulful sex. Laughter and fun. Energy and vision. Poetry, watching a great film or show, eating shellfish and meeting someone new. Seeing art in person. Feeling a sense of calm, peace, community and spirit abound. Small town life. Quality life. Urban experiences. Travel. Rattling cages when needed. Justice and advocacy and passion and empathy. Real talk. Smart talk. Kindness. Observation. Speaking with someone who is as equally interested as interesting. Amazing conversation. Knowing in stillness. Appreciating the pause. Feeling the weight of the quiet like the headiness of a garden gardenia, white and thick petals; a fragrance that knocks you back.

A look.

That look.

A kiss.

Those lips.

My voice.


Comes out.