Archive for the ‘words’ Category

the self(ie) love project 2017

August 6, 2017

womanhood. kind eyes. resilience. sass. a heart that feels. pretty skin. good bones. happiness. high vibration. gratitude. my dad’s eyes. just the right amount of crazy. a hard worker. a pretty face. a bitch who knows some shit. my vulnerability. my strength. my essence. my old soul. some swagger. a sense of humor. contentment. myself. a certain elegance. peacefulness. sexiness. a girl trying to get out of her own way. warmth. a woman willing to laugh at herself. a beautiful, intelligent, strong, caring woman of great depth and fierce spirit learning to honor herself and stand in her own truth.

that’s what i see when i look at me.

selfie project 2017

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signs for healing, signs of hope: women’s march L.A.

January 22, 2017

 

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the falcon: ode to a car lost

December 31, 2016

 

i wonder
when they took you
if they noticed your smell,
that comforting mix of cool metal, warm leather,
and the more elusive qualities of age.
did they have trouble with the downshift
into first, like i always did,
or note the gentle “put-put” scales
of your acceleration?
could they feel the familiar slump
to your driver’s seat,
the way the back grooved just so,
a perfect echo of another’s body?
was that intimacy enough to make even
their heart blush?

was there more than one of them?
and, if so,
did the second one feel
the satisfying heft of your door clanking shut?
were my toeprints still there,
on the dash, and the windshield,
gauzing their view of the getaway route?
did they attempt to unroll
your fickle passenger side window,
finding, finally, that
jingle-jangle rhythm of release?
did they slide, intuitively, into that place
you always held,
elbow slung out the window,
neck nestled against your seat,
hair tousled (illicitly) by the passing breeze?
and did they smile, in spite of themselves
and the cold sting of their departure?
i wouldn’t blame them.
life always felt better from that spot.

were their silhouettes
the same as ours, framed
by the gentle arc of your rear window,
and the ruby glow of your tail lights?
or did they read,
through the noir haze of late night,
like the fugitives they were?
did they feel the way the world looked at you
with admiration,
how you were a gateway
to so many unplanned conversations,
so many unorchestrated connections?

i wonder
when they looked at you
if they saw only the price tags dangling
from your disembodied parts.
or did they also understand
the shared history they were dismantling,
the planned future they were tearing apart?

did they know
that just two blocks away
slept a man, a woman,
and one little boy,
who would miss you everyday
like a lost piece of their own hearts?

– a.
december 28, 2016

cali_trip

fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 9

December 13, 2016

 

like absorbing
a hundred bombs a day —
a thousand —
with the very core
of your being,
into the very synapses
of your soul
                but then later,
at bedtime,
the folding up small
into one another
inhabiting the same space
air
being
returning to the same
home base.

like sneaking past
the monster’s den
on the tippy toes
of your breath,
waiting for the tremble
in the earth
bracing for the roar
                but then after,
the storm past,
light spilling from your smile
from your eyes
melting the memory
of colder hours.

like trying to
tame the lion
again,
and again
knowing that it can’t help the truth
of it’s own wildness,
that it will bite the hand
that feeds it
                but then at night,
your voice in the darkness,
calling out
for solace
for security
for love
calling out for me.

that’s what i’ll tell you
when you ask
what it was like
when you were two.

– a.
december 13, 2016

 

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fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 8

July 26, 2016

 

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fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 7

May 20, 2016

 

that moment

(as a mother)

when you realize what you have to do

shed

let go of

doesn’t make it

any easier

to watch you grow up.

 

– a.

may 19, 2016

bedtime reading

August 25, 2015

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fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 5

July 6, 2015

yesterday i looked up
i looked up and saw
that you were no longer my baby
i looked up and saw
that you had become my son

a year has passed,
more,
since you came to be
since we began the slow journey
toward knowing one another
life has come back to reclaim me
a jealous sibling
constantly competing for my time
it builds a wall between me
and the immediateness of our early days
with brick after brick of have-to’s
and i find myself asking:
what were you like back then?
were you really ever so small?

all i have left is a string of vignettes
soft-spun memories of our beginnings
of your tiniest self
golden
and delicate
and fragile to the touch:

the sparrow’s ribs beneath the surface of your torso;
the kiss-kiss purse of your tiny mouth;
the downy pillow of your cheeks;
the push and pull of your parenthetical little feet;
the gentle puff of your breath against my neck;
the soft lisp of your first whispers;
your toothless grin;
your wonder-filled eyes;
the feel of your dimpled fist against my chest;
the weight of your head in the hollow of my arm;
the unruly wisps of your gossamer hair,
standing up like a feather in your cap.

precious (few) details,
let me wear them around the neck of my soul
gather them in the palm of my heart
tattoo them to my mind’s eye
so that I may never forget
the magic of the days
when I was steeped in you.

– a.
july 6, 2015

Wyatt

fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 3

December 31, 2014

hush now, my love

no need to fuss

and wail as though the end is near

 

i’ll hold you close

and with my kisses

protect you from what it is you fear

 

and if all that love

just isn’t enough

to soothe your tender little heart

 

then come with me

take my advice

the record player’s where i’d start

 

let’s put us on some Etta

some Otis Redding too

we’ll play some Little Walter

find that Muddy Waters groove

 

then dance around the room

and fill our souls up with their tune

let their words soak through our skin

and put us in a lighter mood

 

cuz life can feel real heavy

when you let it in, it’s true

make a tangle of your insides

until you don’t know what to do

 

but if mama learns you anything

before this life is through

it’s that there ain’t no ill

that can’t be cured by the blues

 

– a.

december 31, 2014

early wisdom

November 10, 2014

soul is good

{from A Little Bit of Soul Food by Amy Wilson Sanger}