This is Friday night
This is Friday night at the country club for dinner with my Ivy League husband where we will act surprised to see all the same people we saw last Friday night at the country club for dinner. The pale blue undertones in my $500 J McLaughlin dress will complement the deep blue in his Non-Iron Milano Fit Multiplaid Sport Shirt from Brooks Brothers. We look like we planned this. It’s casual Friday. We will reassure our friends that our lives, jobs and children are just as exceptional as they were last Friday, if not more. We will ask about the specials. It won’t matter that I have on my period panties…
Lady Moth
Why are butterflies more beautiful than moths? With their loud colors, their sturdy wings, their pretentious stories of transformation as if that one time they changed was some grand accomplishment. The butterfly had no control over that change. It was a pregnancy, giving birth to herself. There is no talent or skill in giving birth. Your body takes over with contractions and cramps and pain until you are turned inside out. It is out of your control, giving birth to yourself or another. You are along for the ride. It’s what you do after that takes wisdom. But butterflies rest on their smug laurels talking about metamorphosis and transformation and…
The Sweet Taste
Support me on Patreon to see this content!To unlock this content, pledge $5 or more on Patreon Unlock with Patreon
Charcoal Skies
The sky is charcoal grey with stars in every direction. In the distance, lightning flashes like an orange ball illuminating a low hanging clump of storm clouds. Cool air, smelling of salt and fish is tumbling around me pushing against my jacket, playing with my hair and lifting my skirt with unexpected gusts. I’m sitting on the beach with my knees drawn in. The sand is hard and soft underneath me. It feels cold and damp, but it’s dry where I am, far enough away from the shore that it’s rippled and pliable, but close enough that if I don’t move, the waves will reach up to me within the hour. It’s…
Sensual Anarchy
Your love is so cold and clothed. Your brutal indifference. I’m bringing needy back. It’s become such a curse, it’s a shame, to need someone. Why!? We want to be needed but we don’t want to need. Vulnerability is a dirty feeling, like insecurity and failure. No one will admit to disappointment. No one wants their imperfections shown. What a waste! Who will step forward and say, “I need something. I need you. I am confused and helpless at times and you heal me. It’s you! It’s you that I need!” Everyone and their no fucks given. There’s no appeal in that for me. I have lots of fucks to give.…
He’s a Gardener
“I’m a gardener.” He said, matter of factly, “I garden.” He was on the edge of the couch leaning over the coffee table, his knees pressed up against the edge. He was writing notes about something in his spiral notebook. He always wrote in pencil. His elbow rested on his knee and he didn’t look up at her. He kept taking notes. He was preoccupied. “But I’m talking about when you talk to people” she shrieked, getting his attention. He looked up, leaned back and watched her. His beard was so thick and dark around his lips she couldn’t tell if he was smirking. His eyes gave away nothing. “I’m…
You Can Not Trust Your Eyes
She knows that she looks sweet. She looks tender. Pretty. There’s an innocence about mher that inspires you to let down your guard. You want to protect her. How kind. You should know, it’s too late for your protection. There is no part of her that has not suffered wounds. There is no real innocence left. She have seen darkness and fought it. She won. And she lost. It consumed her, she fought back harder and consumed it. She carries it with her now, in her belly, in her blood. She knows that she am fun. She is happy! What a relief for you to find a woman so open!…
A Reconnaissance For Love
That's the tragedy of love after loss. No one climbs to the watchtower to look out for patience or forgiveness. No one sends out a reconnaissance for love.
Peppermint Kisses
His beard had grown longer and was speckled with grey hairs. His skin was tan, his arms swollen with muscles from long days working outside. I got to look in his light blue eyes again. He looked back at me intently, a smile curling up on his lips. “You’ve been gone so long I thought I’d never hear from you again.” I said. He put his hand on the back of my neck and stared at me. I was determined not to cry but I felt the trembling of my eyes and lips. I was angry. I was accusing. I wanted to be indifferent. How could I let him come and go like this?…
He Is Her Rock
He is her rock, her security. He is the strong arms that held her while she cried when their son broke his legs skiing; the broad chest that cradled her closely dancing to their song at their daughter’s wedding just as they had 30 years before at their own. He was her strength and courage in all the things she doubted about herself, his voice whispered in her mind, “I believe in you.” She was sensitive and some days just going out into the world was an assault on her heart. There were the times she was left out of something, forgotten by a friend, and there were times she…
