I am so impressed by THEIR ability to build something together. They really understood how to do this – so when the building became available, they were READY to move and make it a reality. I believe in the power of good relationships, and this bookshop definitely AROSE out of the energy and creativity that they foster in one another. But it’s not just about them. The success of a place like this comes, at least in part, from being able to CARVE out a niche that does multiple things at once. They have definitely succeeded. In just a short time, the shop has become a LARGE part of their community’s life. It’s really beautiful to see.

Georg’ann

A few days of PAUSE
to BATHE in different waters.
Not NAIVE that it’s a panacea.
But for 3 days, living LARGE.

Heather

When uncertain of my PLACE, I tend not to make a SOUND – sitting quietly I THINK; I observe. Only once I feel safe and secure do I take the giant risk and do the THING that makes me tremble ever so slightly: I speak feeling as if I am leaping into empty air.

Georg’ann

Driving toward the snow STORM.
On the Pennsylvania Turnpike, entering Philadelphia,
hands grip the wheel, body alert.

Yet I am aware of the snow covered pine boughs
heavy, leaning toward the road.
Long icicle clusters descending from the bouldered hill.

Entering the city, narrow streets lined with white cars,
children walk with sleds,
two teens carry snow shovels.
A parent teaching their child about salt
on stoop steps for safety.

Walking up to the door, anticipating the calling of “Mama”
in the distinct cadence of my daughter’s voice
as she wraps her arms around me in a strong, lingering embrace.

Like Louis Armstrong, I THINK to myself,
What a Wonderful World.
There is not a THING amiss this afternoon.

Heather

I open a bleary eye, longing for just one more moment, to clutch and cower under a warm COVER. A glance at the clock, and my heart sinks like a STONE: night wakefulness STOLE my morning leisureliness.

Georg’ann

Her LANKY body
quickly swooped down the steep SLOPE
and STOLE the whole show.

Heather

Sadly, the only thing that made him feel WHOLE was to have a large audience in his ORBIT, like a king holding COURT.

Georg’ann

Creamy skin, pierced brow, ruby lips, dark hair, sparkling eyes.
A flowered silky SCARF from a bygone era,
over her hair, tied under her chin.
Baggie light jeans, a jean jacket, and clunky boots.
18 years old, effortlessly hip.
She’s chic, she’s unique.

We walk a long distance, laughing,
taking in new pathways.
Scratching pigs, petting horses, taking selfies.
Later she does the CHORE of chopping
all the root veggies for roasting.
A sous chef extraordinaire.

After dinner she holds COURT,
engaging everyone in a game of wordplay.
No easy feat to take the lead,
in this boisterous family,
so rare she has the chance
to shine in a room filled with celestial beings.
Justine, this season my North Star,
brightest of them all.

Heather

The smell of sugar and butter rises up from the mixer, and a more than FAINT whiff of vanilla brings back a flood of memories. How many times have I made these, building up a MOUND of dough, ready to scoop up and fill cookie sheets? As they bake, I watch the pale spoonfuls turn a golden BLOND color. You come into the kitchen anticipation written all over your face, ready to savor the crunch of the edge and the contrasting soft centers, and hot melted chocolate chips. We are like children with after-school snacks, gleeful with our glasses of cold milk and sugar crusted lips.

Georg’ann

This evening while moving from room to room,
a small pile of fallen WHITE orchid blossoms
caught my attention.
I’m not sure when they fell,
though long enough to dry
into something like rice paper cranes.
Delicate. In my hand.
As it started to close over them
the slightest crinkle SOUND.
Opening, my fingers unfurling,
I let them fall again.
Strewn across the dark wood shelf,
tissue birds of peace nestled
between the soft fern FROND
and the photo of the BLONDE little girl
reading Thich Nhat Hanh’s
How To Love.

Heather

It’s the MONTH of cold and gray, and I feel dragged down. Looking out the window, I struggle to find a bright spot, a sprinkle of color, a PINCH of spice. And then I see them: the little finches with their reds and browns, the sassy wren with its plump body and tilting head, and the haughty blue jays swooping in to grab a peanut. On a BENCH, its tail held tight against its back to ward off the bitter cold, a squirrel eats with a focus and concentration worthy of any worker settling down to a well-earned LUNCH. Taken out of myself, my spirits lift and I bustle about, looking forward to replenishing the feeders. Winter is transformed from threat and misery to happy opportunity.

Georg’ann

Salted eggplant slices laid out
on a dishcloth to SWEAT,
a measure FOUND to decrease bitterness.
These creamy round disks,
with speckled, seedy centers
ringed with deepest black-purple skin
await the dredging and dipping
into flour, egg, breadcrumbs.
Extra care in how I prepare
lest we INCUR judgement as we MUNCH.
An epicurean has been invited to LUNCH.

Heather

The THEME for the celebration was PLAIN as the nose on your face. Which was good, because none of us are getting any younger and a few of us are getting there faster than others. In short, we were to eat cake, sing a song, DRINK hot beverages (coldest day of the year so far!), give gifts, eat a good meal. Oh, and do all this in a festive way in another city (thus making it even more festive and special). In case you haven’t guessed, this was a birthday party. One that had had a circuitous pathway in conception and execution, but proved in the DOING of it, to be delightful and immensely satisfying.

Georg’ann

I marvel at CLOTH.
Fibers made into SOUND pieces
is DOING magic.

Heather

Searching a pocket
Need a little MONEY
Just to EXIST
I want to do more
So I must persist
What did you say?
Get a job, get some pay?
Yeah, yeah, I HEARD
The one about the early bird
See you in the morning

Georg’ann

Today no PAUSE, it’s a milestone
birthday blitz for you.

Pour CREAM in the coffee,
fire up those internal engines.

Time for relaxing LATER,
now get READY to go.

Red pepper sauce in white BEARD,
Ethiopian dinner, family style.

We HEARD your request, a day trip
celebration with lots of cake.

Heather

Lt. Det. James P. Fischer looked over the PRINT out of his personal log. He found it useful to read it over at the beginning of the day, and being a man of a certain age, while he wrote on his computer, he did prefer paper when it came to reading. He was deep in thought, contemplating what he had written about his last case, when there was a knock at the door. He grunted. Taking that as a “come in!”, Det. Sarah Rose stuck her head in. “Boss, there’s been a break in over in the TRADE district near Chinatown. A STORE was broken into and the clerk on duty got beat up pretty bad. The team is en ROUTE to check it out.” He nodded his assent. The door closed quietly and he returned to his thoughts. “Wait a minute- was this connected to -” he shook his head. Surely some petty robbers didn’t have anything to do with Black Market syndicate they were trying to break. He sighed. This is what came
of having been on medical leave. His brain was slow and they were coddling him. Reaching for his cane, he heaved himself out of the chair. He better get some more information.

Georg’ann

Staring into the closet, naked.
Hands moving hangers this way
then back that way, bounty
of prints, textures, weights.
As they pass, glimpses of
acquisitions, scenes.
Portals, everywhere portals.
This olive LINEN dress, simple
yet too sheer,
and now ripped under the arm. CHEAP, yet filled with riches.
It holds friends laughing in that Croatian STORE,
my husband insisting, me shy
then elegant with artsy gold earrings, hair swooped up.
Eating some kind of TORTE in the nook
by the windows, playful ease.
A chill brings me back, winter here.
The ROUTE ahead requires something sturdy-
cottons and wool, layers.
Standing here exposed, seeking
some substance, security,
comfort to drape the hollow shell.

Heather

My life is full and rich with community. Given this, I sometimes have to PLEAD for alone time. In truth, I cannot EXIST without some sort of solitude on a regular basis. It rejuvenates me, aligns my inner being. It rings an inner harmonious CHIME audible only to me. It’s important to not mistake this need for a loner impulse – indeed, if I were severed from relationships, a giant KNIFE cutting them all away, I would have a deep and primal GRIEF. There is a balance to be achieved when, even for BRIEF periods, I can experience solitude.

Georg’ann

Massage me like DOUGH
release the SPIKE in my neck
Even BRIEF, it’s relief

Heather

It was a most unexpected moment – we talked about it forever after – that time when a CAMEO appearance by some SHEEP thwarted the efforts of a THIEF. You see, these THREE ewes were pretty unique (haha), and the way they THREW themselves into the path of that would be burglar, well, you just had to see it to believe it.

Georg’ann

Laughing as we BUILD
a TOWER of bright foam blocks
Then THREW things at it.

Heather

My DREAM lingers
Across the day
A GIVER of meaning to my
Otherwise humdrum life
Like cosmic LINER notes
Over which I nod sagely,
Mulling and pondering
According to my fancy

Georg’ann

GRACE waltzed into the pet STORE determined to buy a VIPER. However none of the options visually appealed to her, she’d expected a WIDER selection. As she looked and pondered, her fingers rubbed the satin LINER of her coat, a life long habit formed from discovering the soothing sensation of rubbing together folds of a satin edged cotton baby blanket.

Once when she was about 6, she couldn’t help reaching out to rub a stranger’s satin skirt while waiting in line at the Super-X drugstore. Her paternal aunt called her a “sensory seeking child”.

This was the draw of a pet snake. Grace was looking for a particular sensation. She wanted the muscular movement of weighted, silky scales slithering along her limbs, neck, and hands in the hopes of settling her general sense of dis-ease.

Heather

Uncertain about the future, looking to EVICT the devils and the negative self-talk, she steps out into the WINDY night. Might be a MINUS, might be a plus, but at least if won’t be the usual night at home with a screen and ice cream. Walking into the church hall, she gets her BINGO cards and takes her place. Strangers all around, this feels good: unexpected, daring, playful. She doesn’t even care what the FINAL cash wins are, she’s already won at life just by being here.

Georg’ann

Weariness FOUND us
as FINCH flies to the feeder
FINAL flash, fleeting.

Heather

Walking, hand in hand, we find a way up the hill. Through the forest, we play at being BRAVE souls. Together, we express our determination: our footfalls POUND the STONY trail. You count our steps out loud, in that sing-song voice that reminds me of the Swedish chef from the Muppets. At last, we reach the top and I swing you up to rest on my hip. You beam at me — “We did it!” Yes, sweetie, we did.

Georg’ann

Hard to name the CAUSE
They each have their own STORY.
STONY hearts won’t yield.

Heather

Sometimes it is a struggle to feel that one has WORTH. Is there a SCALE that one can step on in order to measure one’s value? Or a CABLE, marked in increments, to stand next to and in that manner, take one’s measure?

Georg’ann

Carpe Diem

Concentration like SMOKE rising from the candle,
distinctly there, then dissipated into nothingness.
Yowling cat and the hum of something mechanical
break into the QUIET I want to DRAPE over me.

Time to HEAVE the weight
of this blanket cocoon.
Shock the system with cold air
meeting warm skin,
feet finding the frigid floor.

When I re-enter the fabric folds tonight,
what FABLE might be made possible
from elements encountered throughout the day.
What bedtime story will be told?
Will it have the makings for CABLE TV?

Heather

Opening the book carefully, not wanting to break its still like new SPINE, Joanna settled in. “Once upon a time,” she read,. And so began the story of the good KNAVE who tricked a bad GNOME, thus saving the village from certain destruction. She giggled at how the hero was so clever and able to NUDGE the villain towards exile. All accomplished without so much as a single LUNGE and thrust of his trusty sword.

Georg’ann

Nothing is coming- all my words are light,
seeming to evoke fashion, a dance floor.
Yet the day has been one of gravitas.

The forefront holds a box of human ashes,
soft green algae dancing under clear river water,
2 eagles soaring above, sun reflects
friends stand close, arm in arm.
Calls come in, another realm – psychosis, client self destruction.

BELOW that which urges for attention
are the elusive threads
as I strive to weave with my words.
An image of pants with a wide FLARE,
a dance floor, someone with STYLE
(in clothing and their moves)
pulls off a swivel hip and pelvis tilt,
landing a low LUNGE and a jump up.

It’s there, but not compelling.
It doesn’t speak truth.
Tonight’s mood is not fanciful fiction,
or playful scene making with these random words.
Long form is the writing I crave,
an expanse without constraint,
to engage each exquisite detail of the day.

Heather

Not much makes me happier than to sing, DANCE, and CLANG about in the kitchen. In these days of SCANT hope, my heart is lifted by the preparation of good food and the chance to share the abundance with others. It is in those moments that I can truly feel that all will be well.

Georg’ann

Catch and Release
It was only a BRIEF thought,
I caught it in time, reeling it in.
Disheartened by how easy it is
to be pulled out of myself.
Setting in motion the reflexive adjustments of accommodation. Convoluted negotiations.
“SOUND the alarms,
she’s starting to SLANT.”
I braced against the force,
held steady, and then cut the line.
Reserved the SCANT bit of energy,
enough to sustain.
This woman didn’t go overboard.

Heather

We seek moments FOUND
Amid chaos and noise
Wherein we take a risk: to write,
To stretch and occasionally struggle
Pushing on: another risk, to SHARE
Not a shelf of dusty LIBRI
(Sad records of the past –
Frozen and forgotten)
But rather to capture living fragments-
Light and magical as feathers
That TWIRL in the wind

Georg’ann

Sending her to DREAM, listening to lullabies.
A collection she now knows by heart,
as do I, as does my adult daughter.
Her soft voice sings along, as does mine,
“…in a flash of GLORY, in a ray of light,
welcome to the world that will hold you tight.”
Quickly her voice falls away as her breath deepens into slumber.
Emotions WHIRL about in this peaceful scene,
lit with amber salt light.
My tender joy always comes
with a SWIRL of sorrow.
Her face on the pillow, arms wrapped around a squishy, plush axolotl
is an innocence, a vulnerability
that splays my heart space.
Like in her sand scene created earlier, the wide eyed recognition that life goes by quickly.
Ripe with suffering, with fear.
As she already knows too well.
I reach out to TWIRL one of her
golden curls,
silk threads around my finger.

Heather

It was a SWIFT and easy decision to take on this project. In fact, despite its size, she did not see it as a CHORE. And despite its very public nature and potential for creating DRAMA, she was feeling excited about it. It would be a chance to MARRY her design skills with her sense of color on a large scale. She planned to head over later to the building and talk with the owners about exactly what kind of MURAL they wanted.

Georg’ann

Using FRESH arugula to ADORN it,
we elevated the PARTY pizza
into a middlebrow crowd pleaser.
Our family New Year celebration
had something for everyone.
The evening’s offerings pulled
from every era of our combined lives.
Even a pair of white go-go boots CIRCA 1973
were pulled out and passed down.
If I could paint, last night
would be rendered in a MURAL-
a vibrant depiction of our cohesion

Heather

We have BLOWN the horns
Had a good LAUGH over punch
Time to TALLY up the last year and
Release the leftover SALTY feelings
With a hip hip hooray
Happy New Year!

Georg’ann

Please, I need WATER.
barbecue chips are TANGY.
SALTY mouth cries “help”.

Heather

SPEAK gently —
Lest you WOUND
the CHILD

Georg’ann

QUIET, sitting outside
watching a HAIRY spider
calm, curious CHILD

Heather

I feel irritated in the moment
Is it too extreme that I stop and think
Some day DEATH will visit
And I will miss this feeling
You will be gone
I will be gone
Suddenly the irritation seems trivial
Every day I struggle
Every day I LEARN
Gratitude and grace

Georg’ann

COUNT slowly, moving the breath out the way a SNAIL glides across the walk. Let your mind be BLANK. In this way LEARN to meditate.

Heather

Together we LEARN and deepen
Our relationship, shaped over the years
By kitchen time and love
We make a PASTA sauce and
The memories bubble up:
You, baby in a sling across my torso,
Your tiny hand holds a carrot, waving
I chop onions and garlic
Pour the olive oil, sauté
Experiences layered across the years
My aged hands now arthritic, but still able
You, a man now, become my extra hands
Reach above my head with ease,
We bask in family adoration of the results
DAISY yellow noodles gleam amid
Blood red sauce

Georg’ann

GRIEF arrived quickly
THICK man too thin now, breath weak.
Friend comes, a DAISY.

Heather

I ADMIT to a flaw —
Not fatal! –To wonder
WHERE I saw
(Or did I SHOVE under
Cushion, book?)
My PHONE–
Oh Let me look
For this damn thing I own
(Or does it own me?)

Georg’ann

Sitting curled in the chair with her legs like a pretzel,
jaws in motion, working the EXTRA CHEWY caramel.
Oblivious to everyone else, she’s taken a SHINE.
Enraptured with your stories, you cast a spell.
Granddaughter & grandmother, me the daughter-mother
I reach for my PHONE to snap this scene,
as if the camera could suspend the inevitable.
The universe is expanding,
we will be pulled into different orbits.

Heather

We sat around the table, each CHAIR elbow-jostling close. And though the numbers change from year to year, we always managed to WEDGE everyone around the table. It’s the holiday tradition – delicious, lovingly prepared meals, special drinks, and of course the stories. We will retell beloved family lore, like the tale of how Aunt Betty surprised the family and decided to ELOPE. We will swap current tales, sharing who was born, who died, and where others took vacations or how they changed jobs. All in all, the happy cacophony of voices around the table EVOKE feelings of connection and hope, an annual gift much anticipated and treasured.

Georg’ann

While everyone napped,
I boiled the FRUIT for the cake.
Orange globes reflecting in the silver pan
I sat sipping tea, looking out.
A portly squirrel makes a CAMEO,
chasing away the doves, stealing the holiday seed cones.
Acrobatic skill was SHONE,
as it deftly hung and pulled at its prize.
I pulled on my kitchen GLOVE-
It allows me to wildly whack.
Thus I began to chop pecans with fervor,
letting them have all pent emotions.
The scent of the boiling clementines EVOKE
memories of times past, absences impossible to fill.

Heather

Ok, I have tried up one side and down the other, and while normally I can write SWIFT and sure, tonight no matter how I SHAKE it, I got nothing. No flow, no juice. An empty SCORE. I want to SLOPE off into the night, wend my way to a book and bed. And so G’night.

Georg’ann

Lemon GLAZE, like a waterfall from spoon to cake.
Pouring over cranberry and walnut boulders,
pooling in the crevices.
Glory be, it has burst its banks
to SLOPE down the steep sides.
Little fingers dip in the runoff,
with a smile as wide and sweet
as the sugar river.

Heather

A SMEAR provides evidence that a POUND of butter had sat on the counter, softening. There are a couple of TOUGH-to-get-out stains on a kitchen towel. And there are gaps on the shelves where the cookbooks sit, indicators of researching and decision-making, plans laid and abandoned, then new plans made and followed. Finding things in the refrigerator is as much about TOUCH as it is about sight, as it is filled to bursting. This is the glorious holiday season – when we show our love by cooking all the favorites, pull out new recipes to delight and tempt. Joyous. Merry. Happy.

Georg’ann

My grandmother’s books line the bottom SHELF.
Worn paperbacks from the 50s and 60s
Nurse romance novels, one after another.
Hilarious descriptions and cover art.
The lone child’s book, A Playmate for Peter.
And that 1st lesbian pulp fiction, Twilight Girl.

I notice them now as I shift things,
making room for holiday tchotchkes.

A BATCH of her cream cheese cookies
sitting on the table, delicate stars of wonder.
All the Maritano women make them, annual tradition.
We each have a tea towel with the recipe.

With a kitchen TORCH I light the final purple taper.
Sitting in its glow, nibbling
on rich, layered sweetness.
My eyes, my fingers, my tongue TOUCH
the connection we never had.

Heather

Wandering through with a cleanup crew, Sarah reflected on how much they could make once it was cleaned up. But she wasn’t ready to bring that up – yet. So out loud she said, “Gah, what a PLACE! Between the MOLDY smell and odd bits like that random QUILL and cracked vase, we are going to have a devil of a time getting it clean enough to sell. When was the house BUILT?”

Georg’ann

My best friend eased the car down the DRIVE, turned left onto the gravel road and headed to the small cemetery where we liked perch atop a gravestone and talk. Usually we walked, but today we decided to take her parents’ car- they were away for 24 hours. It was our first time being left alone and we were up for adventure. A teen risk. Neither of us had a license or permission to drive, nor, obviously any experience.

It was a late afternoon in September when yellowjackets aggressively come for food. Do they sense the ending of their days when sunlight comes at an angle and nights have a chill?

One got in her soda can, with the next sweet sip came a sharp STING, suddenly her lip grew THICK. We weren’t worried that it could be FATAL, yet we did feel an urgency to get home. Back in the car no amount of turning the key in the ignition resulted in the engine turning over. Only silence. In a panic we simply left the car in the cemetery and ran down the lane. We had no idea what we’d say, there was no lie to be BUILT. We were in big trouble.

After the sting had been tended and the truth of the car revealed, my mom went back with us to asses the situation. As it turned out we had left the car in drive when we turned it off. The only problem had been operator error. Our grand adventure ended with one fat lip, a few harsh lectures, and a lengthy period of significant restriction.

Heather

“The LODGE is the perfect place to relax, go SLACK,
cheerfully STALL and procrastinate, and indulge in SMALL delights.” I read out loud from the brochure. “Well, what do you think? Are you persuaded? Here, look at the pictures.” I hand you the brochure, eagerly scanning your face for any indication that you are willing to go. “I know it is not your usual choice, being more of a serious traveler, but I think that it could be nice to get away and rest.” I speak in a casual, off-handed way, certain that will get me what I want more than an urgent plea will.

Georg’ann

Sifting through years of ribbon and bows,
rolls, folds, and pieces of printed paper.
Out falls a silver SCRAP, a tag addressed to me from you.
Childlike printing in a SHADE of green,
the effect not unlike a celery STALK.
This SMALL treasurer waiting
in the folds of recycle and reuse
or pristine paper waiting it’s turn
to be cut, folded, taped, ripped, gathered
and put back in the wrapping box,
perhaps with some small scrap attached
destined to be a serendipitous gift
received in some future season of giving.

Heather

Speak up and lay CLAIM
Your LABOR is powerful
Sit at the TABLE

Georg’ann

Twinges of GRIEF whisper
within the twinkles
as I sit gazing at the tree,
lit with strands of sparkles
CHEAP red wine in hand,
unconsecrated yet still redeeming.

By myself in reverie, allowing
dark and light to play alongside.
So little required to bring me
into the fullness of everything.
The LEAST bits come together,
all welcome at this TABLE.

Heather

CHAIR by the OCEAN
Feet up, steaming cup o’ Joe
Gulls fight over BACON

Georg’ann

Seeking something to DRINK
after an early morning hike
we stopped at the Scenic View
perched above the snaky road
giving but a glimpse of the lake.

Settling in, hunger joined thirst
Early LUNCH, black bean burger
with a SCANT smear of brown mustard.
You went for brunch in a glass
a Bloody Mary that came like a centerpiece.
a crudité display, stalks and baubles galore
draped with 3 wide curls of BACON
gracing the vase-like glass as if it were ribbon.

Heather

Having looked up the CHART of countries, I think about how we COULD send it back. But do I still have the paperwork? Is it in a drawer, hidden under a random GLOVE? or lost in a frenzy of cleaning? I spin the GLOBE, a gift to you, made many years ago. It came with a promise that if countries changed, they would update it. We have ignored this so far, through boundary and names changes over the years. It makes me wonder: do we have places like that in our lives, our relationship? The outdated names for parts of ourselves that we refuse to adjust? I ponder and wonder, thinking how this will be a silly topic for us over dinner, like a pretend academic seminar. “Geopolitics: metaphor for love?”

Georg’ann

The mood had struck to get dressed super SMART. We hadn’t planned beyond the preparations, and really there was no where to go. Wondering the streets we FOUND a small tavern, set back in time, and ironically behind an old fashioned street CLOCK painted bright red. Inside everything was draped in evergreen garland and twinkling lights which reflected off the long mirror behind the dark, heavy wood bar. I took off my opera GLOVES and unbuttoned my long, wool coat. The overall atmosphere was cheerful and warm. We took our seats at the bar and each ordered a festive cocktail- yours sweet and pepperminty, mine layered with smoky spice. Above us you noticed a GLOBE of mistletoe and leaned forward for a kiss. Pulling apart we laughed, and continued our conversation without hesitation, drinks in hand.

Heather

At PEACE —
Enjoy end of day.
Full with SPICY pasta —
Savor lingering tastes.
Ready to write —
Pull TOPIC from thin air.

Georg’ann

QUERY has begun,
which PITCH resonates within-
crucial choir TOPIC.

Heather