Daddy, Mother, Elouise. Until I started blogging, I was interested mainly in the meaning of my name. Now that I’m blogging I’m getting questions about the way I use other ‘names’: Daddy, my father, and Mother. I’m also thinking again about my name. Does it matter? Read the rest of this entry »
weeping branches brush
lightly against my face and
whisper sweet somethings
* * * * *
a weeping beech stands watch
near the cemetery Read the rest of this entry »
First day of 7th grade, 1955. A giddy day! All the girls are furtively checking in with each other: Did your period start yet? Yes! (much quiet applause and excitement); Are you wearing a bra? No. (oops…). Definitely a less than stellar report. Read the rest of this entry »
spring’s torrential rains
reshape the inner landscape
of my old-soul heart
Where am I?
What’s going on?
I feel lost on my own home ground
or is it found? Read the rest of this entry »
It’s spring 1953. I’m 9 years old and in the 5th grade at a Christian grade school. Because I did 3rd and 4th grades in one year, my classmates are a year older than I am. Right now my teacher, Mrs. Wilson, is making an announcement to the girls. “Be sure you bring your signed permission slips with you tomorrow.”
What permission slips? What’s she talking about? My classmate tells me it’s for the film. Read the rest of this entry »
sinking daylight births
spirit mist rising over
dark flowing river
* * * * *
infinitesimal
droplets Read the rest of this entry »
Of all the things I listed in my initial observations about Part 1, one troubles me most–my inability to blame Daddy. I’m used to blaming myself, or at least wondering whether I’m to blame for things that happen to or around me. This seems to be one of my favorite default modes. However, given the nature of the air I breathed back then, I’m surprised at my internal response: Read the rest of this entry »
fledgling chickadees
four babes outside my window
irrepressible
* * * * *
Exuberant, freedom-drunk and chirping madly
they teeter on spiny ribs beneath the canopy Read the rest of this entry »
For years I knew Daddy’s beatings and rules didn’t give the full story about how I was groomed to be a victim. Yet I’ve never spoken publicly about the full story. I didn’t have a clue how to talk about it safely. Besides, who would believe my report? Especially if they knew my father. Read the rest of this entry »
dawn walk
beating heart
strong steady
*****
A Musical Adventure
Best performed outside in a sing-songy voice
Wearing cushioned sneakers
On any spring, summer or fall morning
Accent the first word/s of each line, two beats per line
Begin with haiku above⇑ and proceed directly to⇒ Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 