I'm skating around writer's block at the moment. A bounty of creative energy swirls around in my brain and body, but I haven't formed it into any coherent work...yet. I preface with this so that you have context for the coming paragraphs and their potential meandering. I'll start with a question. How do I dismiss…
I come from a long line of women who made it a point to get in circle with other women. Grandmothers and great grandmothers and great-great grandmothers, all seeking connection and community with their sisters. At my own sister's funeral, my mother's women showed up for her. Women that she hadn't circled with for years…
let me be an evening primroselet me turn my pink face upward in delight of morning sunlet me open wide a thousand supple legsgenerous in magiclet me spread them freely across the musky meadowsand let my yellow laughter inspire the clouds let me adore the caress of radiant butterfly wingslet me shiver under the sweet…
Photo by Skylar Kang from Pexels "I've been sleepwalkingBeen wandering all nightTryna take what's lost and brokeAnd make it right"-From Burning House by Cam This song snuck back into my life last night. In my raw softening sadness it brought tears. I keep replaying it because I need these tears. But I want to say, the sorrow doesn't…
Photo by Tatiana Syrikova from Pexels I am not an easy person to love.I am not an easy person to love.I am not an easy person to love. This is my story. Or rather, it is A story that I repeat to myself. If you know me, you know that I listen to a lot of podcasts and…
"I want you to go forth into the world with this new information. And I want you to transform the people around you with your joy and vulnerability. I want you to let grief wash over you so that you may be reborn over and over again. I want you to build the canoe to…
Photo by Dương Nhân from Pexels Here is what I know about grief: It is anger. Rage that stabs at my spine and claws my throat. It burrows into my skull. It lurks just there. Just behind. It visits at night, shuffling, dragging brokenness into my bed. And I know what I need to do. I hear it…
I wrote this piece for the funeral service of my dear sister Erin. She passed away suddenly. She was 42 years old. I cannot even comprehend all the ways in which I will miss her.
The child is 2 years old. Sitting and crying on the floor. They have been crying for a little while now. I sit too. Holding space as they cry. I am not talking to them. I am not touching them or even trying to hold them. Only sitting close. Meanwhile, the room around us is…
Dad, There is no good way to start a letter to your dead father. I could say that I miss you. I think of you ever day. I wish you were here. But those truths are so obvious they border on mundane. They are truths that apply to many people and places and moments now…
Story writer. Book blogger. Tea lover.
frightfully wondrous things happen here.
Lifes experiences in lesser words
Poetry & Prose...from Prompts
Learn Something New Daily, Teach What You Love
Raku pottery, vases, and gifts
Putting ideas into words.
Author, Artist, Anthropologist
Pen to paper
Charly Slipp 