Sunday, October 28, 2012


story starts

it was all about acceptance, she thought.  but then again, no.  It was about never being quite good enough.  She had not thought of these things in many years and now in the darkness of the room she\let them come back and while her fingers groped to type correctly.  Never quite good enough.  She was good enough most days but then sometimes he let his true thoughts slip out.

That is the difference in what he says and what he really thinks.  He is kind and means no hurt  ever.  The love is there.  It is true and she never doubts that.

Never good enough,  The thought hung in the room sucking up the air.

She had perfected the cry, she said once.  It was all  in the breathing.  Let the sadness out in slow, measured breaths.  Yes, she had not forgotten the technique.

Thank You, Andrew

Thank You , Andrew

When I was at the Dr last week, a solider came in. He was dressed in camo, boots, GI hair cut. He signed the registry book and then took the only seat left- next to me. The medication bottles in his leg pocket bulged and rattled together as he sat down. I remember thinking that he probably had as many bottles as I did.

I studied him a moment and then said, “Sir, may I shake your hand and say thank you?”

His handshake was firm, his eyes gazed directly into mine.

“No. Thank you,” He said.
“I appreciate that more than you know.”

His eyes told the story. I sat thinking about all the sights those eyes must have seen comparing them to the mundane ordinary sights that filled my world.

“Thank you”, seemed such a small word.


I watched him rise and disappear through the door toward the exam rooms.

“Thanks again, Adrew,” my heart whispered.

“May God keep you safe.”



No news of my friend, save that he is still in surgical ICU.
  I am no longer in the communication loop. The sharpness of her words will  cut me over again into tiny pieces if I should allow it,  He is out of my reach.  It will soon be five months. I send my thoughts and prayers to him through the crisp bite of morning and through the silent darkness of night.  It is enough to know he is still in this world of the living.


 Finger Play

waiting for sleep

my fingers accept the challenge.  remember where the keys are  .the room is quiet, no sounds of geese  or ducks quaking in the night,  no sounds of a far away train rumbling its way along,  different sounds for a different place.

i have no news.  i have been cut off and tossed aside like rubbish that is so easily discarded
i am reduced to haunting obituaries, seeking yet hoping not to find.

how can this be and how has this come to pass.  some time someone will ask this and i will answer, I don't know

my fingers remember in the dark.  I have often found solace in words, but there is none to be found this night.

so the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog and the dog lay still as a stone and did not bat an eyelash because he was indeed a very lazy dog.

are you still in the land of the living

 do  you breath your breath in and out in carefully measured puffs

can you sense my thoughts so far away

some one said I am grieving and it must be so and I hope to speak with you of these things if not here then in the land that lies beyond