When I Feel Sad

When I feel sad I might curl up in a ball and sob

Or apply mascara and go out for lunch

I might dance around the room with abandon

Or sit by myself in a corner, when I feel sad.

There’s no telling what I’ll do when the self pity lands

And my thoughts go to dark places. But I won’t do that.

Don’t worry. I’m not sad.

Peace, people.

A Broken Heart

I can point out the cracks,

The places that never quite heal

This one from Newtown

Another from a Texas church

And all those in between

Etchings on this old heart,

Dinged by each death,

Pitted by the greed of lawmakers

Broken by the callous, rote responses,

Their thoughts and prayers

Who will take this cup from me?

Who wants this scarred heart?

I’m tired of carrying the damage around

Of wounds that don’t mend

And people who don’t care.

His Songs

he plays a little club on tuesday nights, a seedy little place off main

the voice, still strong after all this time; yet he never did sell his name.

his songs, sad and sweet, sift through my soul transcending time and tomb

my lonely heart answers the way it knows best; i feel i must call home.

invoking the loss of my family, of my false securities

his songs call out my every conceit and bring me to my knees.

home will you take me back? i’m so damned tired of this road

i thought, oh i thought i could make it, until i heard his songs.

Lunching Alone

Eating alone
at a booth meant for four
I watch in envy the
gaggle of women gathering
noisily for lunch.

They are older than I am,
sixties and seventies,
but I would join them
in a heartbeat if they but
said the word.

Do they realize how lucky
they are to have
whatever it is that bonds
I hope so.

Peace, people.


the favor of her friendship,
forged in youth,
had strings attached.
acknowledge her privilege
accept her status
unwrap her gifts
or succumb to the vacuum.

it pains me to admit that
I once felt adrift
without her approval
the old habit of relishing
her other-directed
sarcasm, snideness,
an affliction of belonging.

heaven knows I cried some
in anger and loss;
who could I be without her?
my soul answered in a flourish:
you are nourished now
deep within, all your own
healthier, wiser, independent.



He offered her a cloth
of intricately woven golden
threads, beautiful, yet
comforting, a shelter from
her storms.

Gratefully she accepted his
gift of warmth and love,
marveling at the complexity
of the workmanship and moved
by his generosity.

Bound by his offering, they
found peace and filled
their lives with love and
laughter, until she
noticed a tiny imperfection
in the cloth.

It wasn’t much, just a hint
of gray in the golden threads,
but it caused a dissatisfaction
in her restless spirit, and
old storms brewed anew.

Try as she might she could
not ignore the gray amidst
the gold.

Maybe, she thought, I can just
pull out this thread and all
will be well with my heart.
But once begun the task had
no end.

Gray became the color of
her discontent. One thread
led to another until she
touched more gray than

He watched her snipping
threads, not knowing how
to help, loving her even
as she worked at dismantling
his gift, his heart.

In the end, she sat alone
surrounded by threads of
gray and gold.

Too late she realized
the gray strands
were ones she’d added to
the tapestry by joining
her life to his.


Drawing by Kimberley Campbell-Picasa

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