In Memoriam

Not best friends, but friends indeed

Your kindness radiated from your smile

Never was your company shadowed in scorn

The kindness of your heart touched me

Others have made the same claim

This is a legacy you leave

to me and your children of many

I wish the last time I saw you

That I would have known

It was the last time I would see you.

I would have told you all of this.

Good bye and rest in peace.


The alarm sounds

I want to ignore it, but I don’t

The coffee pot chimes to me

I can’t ignore, and I don’t

The cold air envelopes my wet body

I want to hide from it, but I don’t

The arctic winds slap my face

I want to give in, but don’t

The commuter train chauffeurs me

I want to run from it, but I don’t

The office houses me for 7 hours

I want to escape it, but I don’t

The chores burden me every night

I want to neglect them, but I don’t

I crawl back into the comfort of my bed

Satisfied I pushed through this day

Ready to do it all again




The Ride Home, a poem

Where do you go to think?

Reminisce, regret, and rejoice?

We ponder adventures and question those not taken.

It’s the place to consider beginnings,

But also judge the finales.

What if’s are asked

Maybe I should’s are questioned

Mental reprises trouble us.

Melodies, choruses, and chatter flow from the speakers.

I enjoy the solitude amongst the four doors.

Often alone, but at times in Company.

The small metal chamber is a necessity,

But oh how I need the therapy of the ride home.

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Winter Morning

Bright sunshine canvasses the spiderwebbed branches

It has tricked me in its brightness

I am nostalgically transported to my front porch

June of my fifth year

Similar sapphire skies and majestic sunshine return me here

I innocently bask in its comfort

This January morning brutally returns me to the present

Bitter air prickles my face

This sky is mischievous

I’ll be content in the warmth of this fond memory

She looks up from the remains

She looks and she mourns

They are cherished and shared

Hauntingly, they hold her back

This ending opens the door

To a new beginning

The smiles are afraid to run across, they crawl

She doesn’t have to forget

All won’t be lost

The remains remain

Within her heart

There is room for more.

I Remember…

I remember breezy early summer mornings; the bright seasonal sun shining through the leaves on the front sidewalk.

I remember the smell of the fresh paint of our Raggedy Ann and Andy themed room. Blue, red, white.

I remember waking for a middle of the night snack of mom’s fried chicken; two thieves in the night.

I remember family t.v. night crammed together on the back porch; sitting on the circular rainbow colored rug hugged by Nana’s crocheted blanket.

I remember the white bread sandwiches cut into triangles I ate in grampa’s kitchen for the last time; the rest of the family was attending his funeral.  

I remember sitting in the wood paneled station wagon for what seemed like an eternity as my parents bought our new home; bigger yard, better neighborhood, fresh start. 

I remember the first day at my new school, powder blue pleated skirt and nylons; a 4th grader teased me.

I remember the end of the summer block party where we met friends with whom we’d share years of childhood memories.

I remember graduations with new dresses, new shoes and tassels dangling in my face. 

I remember the tearful goodbye as I embarked into adulthood at the university.

I remember an entire new set of memories; new friends, drinks, parties, laughter and tears.

20 years remembered in a mere page.



chirping chipmunk

sounds like chip, chip, chip

sounds like sharp and short

sounds like right out the window

grapes, they eat

grapes, they steal

sounds like jellyfish; the sound squirms from the yard into my inner ear

disc jockey’s voice is annoying like the chipmunk chirp

sounds like an alarm clock during my summer break

my lake is their home

peanut butter can be put on a trap to catch the chipmunk

orchestra; sometimes there are so many  in the neighborhood chirping as a song

ducks add their own accompanyment to the opus from my yard

love I do not the early morning chirp of the chipmunk