A Bowl of Stars


A bowl of stars turned

Over my head, dripping its

Milk into the moon.


I’ve liked Haiku for a long time. Maybe not as enthusiastically as my friend, Jan Morrill, but I dabble. I like the way it captures not just an emotion or moment in time, as poems generally do, but the nanosecond of a breath. Those fragments on the edge of your consciousness that occasionally come into sharp focus and give you an awareness of something greater in the universe that you literally cannot handle for more than the fraction you’ve been given.

Writing haiku lets you capture that half-breath and analyze it, turn it over in your hands and examine its beauty, its deeper meaning.

It’s highly personal, unique to the writer, and is as close to a lover’s whisper as we can get.

There is no lunch to make

There’s a lot to do surrounding a death. Funerals to plan, flowers to choose, papers to sign, detritus to collect from wherever it landed at the The Moment. Emily Dickenson captured this odd busy-ness in “The Bustle In A House“.

But after that, after that comes the stillness. The list of things that are not happening. For me, that was an agonzing combination of good and bad. Habits I had formed to love and protect, and discoveries I made long after the departure that kept the wounds open for months.

But paying attention to what was no longer happening created space that I recognized as available for newer, more positive actions. At the time, I could only write it down – often as poetry. Only now can I place it here, a marker of another time that will not be forgotten but must be left behind.

There is no lunch to make
in the wee hours of the morning.
No scramble for boots and keys.
The washing machine gratefully empty
of oil- and dirt-stained jeans.

Countdown to supper hour has stopped,
the meals stretching for days,
Meted out one serving at a time.
And I dine, sometimes in the chair
by the fire, or with the next
Episode I’ve been assured I
Should not miss.

The night will stretch on. Quiet. Peaceful.

I will not sidle by your breath
to guess what state you are in.
There are no furtive trips to the basement now.
The bottle slid behind the furniture,
The insulation,
The ductwork,
Our son’s toy box.
All found and thrown away,
But still stocked in my mind
On the shelves of our Yesterdays.

Only just now, I have stopped listening
for your car, the heavy steps outside,
the joyful chaos as the dogs race to greet you.


I appreciate each and every one who has purchased my latest book – a collection of short stories re-imagined from classic fairy tales – AFTER EVER AFTER. But I also know many have been waiting for the e-book version, and here it is!

After Ever After cover

Click HERE to Order!

Available at half the price of the print version, you can read this on your Kindle reader right away. I admire you for being willing to tempt the darkness again and explore the other side of happy endings. (For you #FridayFictioneers, you’ll recognize the inspiration for many stories within that came from those weekly escapades.) And I am extra grateful when you leave me a review on Amazon. Thanks!