Tag: adoption
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the Bee
All afternoon I listened to the bumble bee buzz, this is what they told me: “Listen Button, when I tell you they were drunk, I don’t mean beer-with-lunch-cocktail-hour-wine drunk, I mean speech-slurring-bodies-weaving-fall-down-and-leave-me-here drunk, I mean stinkin’ drunk. Picture a massive swarm of us all liquored up, gallons of that post-rain-elixing good stuff pumpin through our veins, oooh weee! Liquored up and heading to the hive, bumping into everything but each other- that was them…
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the Hallway
*CONTENT WARNING* this writing contains the authors experience with suicidal ideation & mental health- reader take care- The first time I considered suicide was the Fall of 2004. I was 23. I didn’t know about Adoptee Remembrance Day (October 30th), Adoption Awareness Month (est. November,1993) or Foster Care Awareness Month (est. May,1988). My “best friend” at…
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Dear Button,
All day I listened to the Blue Jay squawk and this is what they told me- “It’s okay, you’re okay. even when it feels like you aren’t, you are- We’ve got you, Your army of Angels your Chickadees and Blue Jays, your Mourning Doves. We were there when you took your first gurgled breath, and…
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Paper-whites
Truthfully, I hoped you’d ask about the Paper-whites. About their 4 x 3-foot patch of soil, about the piece of hand-me-down wrought iron fencing behind them, the single stake with the pointed spade missing between stake 5 and stake 7. I could tell you about my mother, Sandra then and for a few moments at…
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the Scarf
begins a vacant sweater empty, inherited wool itchy and unbecoming easily caught up, I tangle and hang by each thread pilled and snagging on every pattern every thorn I have. the threads expose my inaptitude bring light and shadow to my weakest equilibriums. I find (in time) a pencil eraser worth of footing…
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six-word memoir(s)
I was born an island; seeking. we all have a mother (wound.) I remember: the spilling kitchen sink : shrimp fried rice and cockroach poison : the scent of my father’s cigarettes : Department of Children and Family Services the lie I live, is true. about this writing last week I learned about…
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PLAY (with words)
I’d prefer to mince them: like garlic; pungent and clumsy, fingertips sticky with innuendo and truth. the words might linger, might stay with you long after their consumption. but since you asked and honestly, I think it’s time you knew, I don’t play. and not for the reason you’re thinking, not because I’m a grown-up and have…
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out of touch
never mind a kitchendisturbed or cleandulled abrasions stuck oatmeal scratching steely cut grease spots too the cloudy water is collecting in the dishpan againorder follows chaosfollows orderfollows chaosthe table belongs to the housebelongs to the bank, i payrivers fly like stars that swimrecoursing through oceanic endlessnessthe significance of their insignificancemine too, because wings.a girl without…
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born twice
that’s what she was. not ‘again’ like a christian, god no, but rather like a seed that’s been planted, grown to a seedling and then one day ripped from its root, taken to soil not matching its own, tasked to create life and viability from someone else’s dirt. the first time it happened was on…
santos scribes 