Dear Reader, you will never guess who was spotted at the OPERA, in the most exclusive box! Indeed, Lady M— was seen in the presence of Earl W— . Dare we guess the cause of his MOIST brow and dazed look? Surely it COULD be nothing to do with the Lady M— (oh, if you were there, you know!)! Well, I applaud the Earl for having at last achieved his heart’s desire. We presumably know where he can be FOUND this morning. The question remains if the two people in question will be at the annual fox and HOUND costume ball. Any guess as to which will dress like the hunter and which like the prey?

Georg’ann

Samual posed the following QUERY this afternoon:
If I headed to the POUND
Could you not make a SOUND?
The perfect pup had been FOUND
just beyond the Middletown MOUND
It was the blue tick HOUND
He’d spotted around.

Heather

Oh, to AWAKE in
The WORST grey mood
A WHIFF of pink bloom –
Shifts all

Georg’ann

When did she become my RIVAL?
What is the reason for her SPITE?
She calls out, “Hey CHICK, watch this”
in a taunting, yet WHINY voice.
A WHIZZ on roller skates,
she zooms past, backwards.
Under the disco ball
I catch a WHIFF of her bubblegum

Heather

He was a GAUNT man, seeming to EXIST in a world apart. I had studied him carefully from my vantage point, my usual spot, in the café. I only saw his BERET and tweed jacket (white button-down collar visible, naturally), with wisps of hair sticking out at odd angles. Curious. He definitely did not match the sunny terrace, filled with young people laughing and talking. Since I saw him last week, he has DWELT in my imagination. And here he is again. I pause on the sidewalk. Shall I approach and strike up a conversation? Take the table next to his, even as that disrupts my routine? I think not. Let him continue as a figment of my imagination, grist for my writer’s mill.

Georg’ann

Climbing, each STAIR concave
the entire structure shaking, paint peeling, bits of rust.
A neglected rural MOTEL
no EXULT at our arrival, or anyone else’s.
Anonymous here we KNELT, hands reverently folded,
as we said our prayers.
Believing goodness still DWELT
within

Heather

At times, it seems that the LEAST and smallest thing will set it off. I ABHOR the physical feeling of a migraine episode, though I would classify it as less than AGONY. As far as I know, it is only pain and will not kill me. I am resigned to the fact that that is simply the way my nervous system is wired.

Georg’ann

This PHASE now waning
RAINY season coming soon
AGONY comes too

Heather

I move from FEARS of aging and losing abilities into something more strategic. If it appears that pain will be the CHIEF THIEF, stealing quality of life bit by but, how will I manage? Where can I slow the progression? How can I maintain mobility?

Georg’ann

Each child has their own
tooth FAIRY so SWIFT coming
Sweet THIEF in the night

Heather

There once was a jeweler named Cardi
Who in her HASTE not to be TARDY,
Penned KARET then CARET
And could hardly bear it,
Cardi, the jeweler foolhardy!

Georg’ann

Tethered by a child’s glittery sign
“Welcome to the best HOUSE ever”
Making PLAIN her joy
Such are the treasures I CARRY
No CARAT as precious

Heather

I groan. I frown. Finally, I steel myself to review the remains of last night’s post-performance party. Stomping through the apartment, dismayed at the mess, I contemplate my next move. I suppose I COULD require them all – once they are SOBER, that is – to come and clean up after themselves. Though, frankly, I don’t think there is enough BORAX in the entire state of Texas that will restore this place to what it was. Playing nursemaid to the hottest band in Austin definitely has its drawbacks.

Georg’ann

I love cinnamon TOAST, and sourdough too.
Spread with enough butter to put my AORTA at risk.
No MORAL purity to my choice.
Won’t eat the meat, yet
gladly lap the mother’s milk
not meant for me, or my kind.

Once when I was 11, we traveled to upstate NY,
a FORAY to distant relatives
who owned a dairy farm.
I was allowed to milk a brown cow
white heart shaped spot on her forehead.

We stayed several days,
visited parks and even Niagara Falls.
But my favorite days were the ones when the adults chatted over coffee
tended their normal routines,
I was left free to explore.
Clothes cleaned with BORAX hung in the breeze.
I wandered in the pastures, making my way to every child’s favorite playground,
a rock lined stream.
The sound was quintessential babbling brook.
Later, exhausted from my adventures,
I’d curl on the couch reading true crime magazines.

My mother and I never saw that family again,
though my grandparents relocated to there a few years later.
When they went, I inherited
the Good Season salad dressing shaker.
The final remnant, never another meal together.

Heather

If I could CHOSE
With FRANK abandon
A different way to be
In this oh-so-serious world
Of ivory towers and bureaucracy
I would cheerfully ADAPT
My behavior with nary
A QUAIL or QUALM
Trading caution and trepidation
For joyful bounce and glee
But the halls of academe
Dictate a restraint and decorum
So no singing in the reading room or
Dancing in the halls for me!

Georg’ann

Driving down the COAST
from SFO towards Santa Cruz.
A few side road explorations,
provisions procured for a picnic.
Laid out above the crashing sea:
warm artichoke bread and a wildflower decorated goat cheese round spritzed with salt spray air.
No timeline DRAWN for arrival
the day is ours,
patterns reworked to reduce BLAME potential.
Wild exuberance knows no QUALM

Part 2

We’d forgotten that BLAME always finds a way to seep in, that permissions given will become the clubs that bludgeon.
Soon exuberance comes with a side helping of qualm,
only in stolen moments
created from discrete deceits.

Heather

Delicate LEMON yellow flowers dance above brown leaves and old mulch. It’s a SCENE I relish every spring, eagerly watching from the watery PANED windows of our old house. A woodland garden UNDER our beloved linden trees.

Georg’ann

Crystallized, the HONEY no longer pours
the rich amber liquid has paled
into golden clusters, white at the edges.
Yet we keep the jar
resting on the bottom shelf, hands passing over her multiple times a day
in the reach for NICER pantry choices.
At this stage is it SANER to toss the remainder or commit to finishing?
I’m not ready to let her go,
she still belongs UNDER the long line of dry goods,
a golden reflection on what is worth keeping,
what is ready to be let go.

Heather

The words tumble in my mind, as if in a snow GLOBE. No matter how I shake them, they fall at random, no patterns emerge, no inspiration to be had. I feel as if my own mind has played a PRANK on me, as it was my brain that set the CHAIN of words in motion. A most peculiar SNAFU!

Georg’ann

Given past celebrations,
It was natural for my expectations to ARISE.
There was a mythos to maintain that I would create some marvelous, seasonal elegance served with sparkle and elan, even if only weaving that magic for myself.
I got out the shiny red STAND mixer from the closet and set to work creaming butter and sugar.

While it whirred away, I enjoyed a small SNACK of leftover lentil balls with lemon and buttercruch lettuce to sustain my energies. It was too early to pop the champagne, though my mind was giddy thinking of the addition of pear brandy and the single sugar cube that increased the effervescence a hundred fold, so many bubbles rising up the glistening flute.

Mid reverie, my daughter sent a series of photos and texts asking for my assurances that her dough was indeed rising. She wanted no SNAFU in carrying on the 19 step traditional Easter braided bread for her own celebration. Throughout the morning and mid day we continued periodic exchanges until the final photo of the glazed glory had been sent.

Having come from 5 generations of broken mother-daughter bonds and having had no traditions handed down to me, in every way she is my resurrection story.

Heather

“By the gods above, I SWEAR to have my revenge!” With these words, Sir Albert, leapt from the table and pulled his sword. His companions exchanged uneasy glances; they were unsure of their chances of success. The Queen’s men had privately warned Sir Albert not to force her hand – at least, not yet. But all of that was now beside the point – the die was cast.

Murmurs of shock and disapproval could be heard from every corner of the banquet hall. All eyes turned to the table where the royal entourage surrounded their Queen. How would she respond? While it felt like an eternity, in fact it took only a moment – Queen Matilda raised one eyebrow, and as one, the guards stepped forward preparing to EJECT Sir Albert. But no sooner had they stepped away, than the good knight and his companions drew swords and like oil on a fire, a chaotic MELEE broke out.

The Queen maintaining an astonishing level of sangfroid, stood up and walked out, shielded by her faithful guards.
In the meantime, Sir Albert signaled to one of his men who made his way to the opening with a LEDGE wide enough for him to stand on. Blowing a horn in a prearranged signal, what at first looked like a bit of bravado was now revealed as a plan to take the castle by force.

Where had Queen Matilda gone? Would her army hold? And had Sir Albert correctly calculated the amount of force needed to succeed? He and his men would pay dearly otherwise.

Georg’ann

We went to get the results
routed through ortho
no direct admit to a SPINE specialist
she holds the image in her hand but tells us nothing

His back like the contorted hazelnut
that withered in the garden outside the temple
where he passes his days

More than a TRACE of anger
at a system in which what is clear to the eye goes unseen
years of pain dismissed
parts are not connected
each piece treated in isolation
extending into years
no concern for correlation
between the complaints

Having traveled the GLOBE
this is the where he finds ease
in music, basketball, poetry, birds, a rock garden.
My own restless spirit challenged
a test of my ideals, right there
beyond the window LEDGE
across the flagstone path
sits a daily meditation.

Heather

Tired and unsure of herself, Fiona McDougal was AWARE of being a new face in a new neighborhood. She was struggling. This new assignment was very important to her, and she couldn’t afford to let what happened last time repeat itself. But she just couldn’t shake the sense that something FISHY was going on: subtle shifts at the local market, people coming and going where they hadn’t before, and an overall tension when she walked in on conversations at the local pub. Wondering if pushing on that tension would help her SCOUT out the LOCUS of the problem, she headed towards the pub. At the very least, she’d have a minute to talk with Sal, he always knew what was up. Anyway, it was almost time to head back to the precinct to type up report. As good a time as any for a short break.

Georg’ann

My yesterday is now complete,
Permission given to RAISE the blinds, begin again
Each day SHOWN new guides
These BOSSY words taking me to unexpected places within
I’ve won more than a few COUPS,
subverting their tyranny
toward my own mastery
Like a Ninja, my FOCUS and LOCUS are ever changing
Patient, alert, curious as to where the practice will lead.

Heather

I got really QUIET. It was hard to realize that I was going to have trouble finding a CHEAP place to live. The reality of rent – what a hard lesson to LEARN! My best shot would be to LEASE that last place I looked at, the one with the LEAKY faucets and the broken doors on the kitchen cabinets. Barely room to turn around and a Murphy bed that was so lumpy it looked like a bas relief map of the Alps. Putting on a brave face and a big smile for the leasing agent, I stirred my tea, saying, “that last place will be great, Jessica. I am excited about the LEAFY view out the window. I am just glad to find a place in New York. It’s a dream come true!”

Georg’ann

Being a hearty HUMAN, Gwen loved to blaze the TRAIL, water-filled FLASK slung over her shoulder and a packed lunch of grains, beans, and LEAFY greens in her backpack.

Heather

The presence of a CLOUD or two is not enough to keep me from breaking out in a SWEAT on our walk. Our trip has taken us from the pleasure of a little SPARK of spring to being thrown into summer. At every corner we SMASH ourselves into whatever little bit of shade is offered by the telephone poles and street signs.

Georg’ann

Bad taste to BOAST about the CRASH,
AWASH in the attention given
for surviving the tire SLASH, the mega SMASH.

Heather

Having a SPARE moment, I am attracted by an AROMA, that particular scent that announces the presence of the New Age. Following the waves of patchouli, sweet grass smudge sticks, and Nag Champa incense, I spy the hand painted sign “The Happy Witch” with “TAROT, Crystals, and More” scrawled underneath. Being not the 1980s but the 2020s, I am not surprised to see all the social media symbols in the window. And of course, the obligatory CBD display. I have not been in one of these stores since the last century. I’m curious as to what the RATIO of 1980s to 2020s weirdness will be. Will we throw the I Ching to determine what ails me with a gummy offered as a solution? Will the cards be real or virtual? Let’s find out…

Georg’ann

Morning STORM
Thunder rumbles, rain strikes the window.
A symphonic spring cleaning leaving puddles for birds to bathe and children to splash.
Unlike the OTHER night,
that one shook the house tossing debris in a rage,
sirens wailed the warnings.
In some areas they sent in ROBOT dogs to search the rubble.
RATIO continues to skew
toward proportions I cannot calculate

Heather

So many preparations for the FEAST! I am a bit lost and uncertain of what would be a FAVOR and what would be a nuisance. I am willing to FORAY into the unknown, to take a risk in order to be helpful. Alas, my usual go-tos are not called for: no pretty FLORA in family heirloom vases, no cooking tasks assigned. Instead, it’s a time to wait patiently on the sidelines, with small gestures of support and an abundance of love.

Georg’ann

I hear her stir, wonder if she’ll wake or just shift position.
Maternal instinct has roused me from sleep,
now I wait in quiet anticipation
the soft glow of the NIGHT
light coming from the bathroom,
a CRACK between two spaces.
Wired for survival,
in a time where danger is
the air we breathe
SPEAR in hand, ready to pierce.
Is it still possible to MARRY vigilance and rest?
Returning to this moment,
her breath is steady, I release
Ready to join her ABORD the
dream ship
sailing toward an island
abundant with vibrant FLORA
Nothing to fear, we sleep.

Heather

A crowded room was the last PLACE she wanted to be, but there was nothing for it, but to refuse to show her SHOCK at the news. There would be time enough to take STOCK and make a plan on how to move forward.

Georg’ann

Enough time has passed
making it possible to come together
without lightening bolts of energy
drawing CLOSE holds no risk
SCORN no longer holds court
over lunch we’ll take STOCK
retell our lives in broad narrative arcs

Heather

With a pounding HEART, clutching their lucky CHARM, Sam joined the MARCH on the Statehouse.

Georg’ann

Walking from the parking lot toward the TRAIL
How many times have I come this way?
A path to SHARE,
years of walking with friends, lovers, spouses, alone.
Today with an inquisitive little girl, not unlike my own
Eager scamper up that initial hill, turning the fairy tree bend
finding a perfect stick to CARRY
She bounds carelessly
poking into rotten wood and mud filled crevices
balancing along fallen trees
rustling through the leaves
MARCH winds at our back
carrying us, and the threat of
falling branches
we wander where beauty and danger converge
She speaks, my heart splinters

Heather

It was the FINAL line that POSED the greatest challenge: what on earth would RHYME with EVERY?

Georg’ann

Wearing a dark green velvet CLOAK with a heavy metal clasp, Gwavi strode through the village center. Despite her acknowledgment of all whom she passed, no one was fooled. Know to be QUITE a SHREW motivated by GREED.
EVERY person she passed curled their lips quickly upward in false smiles, and the as quickly put their heads down to avoid any further interaction.

Heather

Oh for a PEACH
Within reach
That doesn’t need
Me to AMEND
Like a grumpy friend
With sugar and spice
And everything nice
Must settle instead
For jam and BREAD

Georg’ann

PLATE abundantly filled
DREAM became true, now enjoy
Plenty of BREAD to EAT

*as in plenty of BREAD to spend

Heather

At times, I long for a personal assistant, my very own CLERK, if you will, who would EXIST solely to write down myself thoughts and musings. Perhaps keep my schedule and take notes of things that matter. This miracle of a human would not become BESOT and a dullard nor feel BESET by hassles and stress. Ah, a girl can dream, no?

Georg’ann

Sandy wasn’t sure what to make of her latest lab assistant, couldn’t quite figure out if she was craftily playing a particular ANGLE or was genuinely just a very odd duck. Really she should have contacted references before she HIRED and gotten a fuller picture of what she was dealing with. Sandy watched as Anna created a COMET model all the while muttering about shooting SKEET as if she were having a conversation with someone, complete with all the requisite components of a good exchange- emoting, pauses, clarifications. Sandy was intrigued while also BESET with concern for the functioning of her little realm in the department. She needed no distractions as she sought additional grant funding and administrative approval.

Heather

His face was cold as he turned to me. “You are not doing yourself a FAVOR by trying to WREST control of the program in such a HURRY. Try, instead, a little kindness and persuasion.” I stopped myself from either cursing or spitting at him (proud of me, Ma?), and merely nodded before turning sharply on my exquisite heels.

Georg’ann

What sort of BEING
has crept its way in?
Did it STACK the deck?
MOULD us as it desired?
this FURRY beast ensures
No one leaves in a HURRY

Heather

We FLOAT along the river, on BOARD with tourists, guides, locals. A friendly sort of CHAOS thrives in this environment, quick friendship happen, groups join and divide across the long days down the Nile.
We talk of weird animals: OKAPI, armadillos, giraffes. We compare notes on travels into deserts and jungles, exotic cities and remote villages. Experiences are wildly varied: some have harvested bat GUANO as part of a scientific expedition that accepted tourists as volunteers, others talk of applying to do menial labor or serving as a cook at a research facility in Antarctica. It’s a happy buzz, one I am grateful to share in, a welcome respite from the drudgery of every day life.

Georg’ann

Walking the Point Lobos trail, above the sea, we find SPACE.
Space to watch the waves crash and the birds soar.
Space to inhale the salty pine air.
We sit, talking for hours.
Lulled by the water’s shifting rhythms
and the delight of our sisterhood,
removed from the DRAIN
of the family toxins.
On the huge rock cliffs no space is BLANK,
covered with white GUANO
as if the gulls were icing the cliffs.

Heather

I LACED up my gardening shoes, admiring the SHINE of their newness, not a single TINGE of spring mud or muck marring their perfection. I love them and all the hope they represent of a new season in the garden. Running my hands over the shoes, I anticipate when they are creased and worn, stretched out from days of pulling them off, knowing I will not bother to UNTIE them, shoving my feet in and out of them with abandon. So it is with my gardening: careful, clean clear plans that then morph into a more comfortable, somewhat scruffy, raggedy garden

Georg’ann

Gathering ourselves into a circle,
becoming still.
Maneuvering our facial muscles into expressions of reverence,
striving to look the part.
Some imagined serenity, wisdom
so self consciously wrought.
The CHIME is wrung
sound reverberates
as a candle is passed
someone’s hair caught in the flame,
a whispered SINGE
breaks my resolve to strive.
Crafting meaning is INANE.
ENTRE tu, ma verite
UNTIE the strings
let me fall open

Heather

“What a night, what a PARTY!!” I poke at my buddy, “hey there! ROUST yourself, you big goof! We need to get down the TOWER and over to headquarters.” My buddy groans. “We won, right?” “Yes you ya-hoo. We won.” I am gathering upy stuff, feeling the weirdness of fuzzy dry mouth, having slept in my clothes, and the wrong shoes for the moment on. I turn, “what’s up? Why aren’t you getting ready? Why do yok like that?” “Wait- did I vote?” “Oh geez, of course you did. You are a VOTER!” I stared at him. “You did, didn’t you??” “I, I don’t remember!” And then it started, first as a giggle then becoming big guffaws at the very idea, that one of the two star leads on the biggest political campaign in New York’s history might have forgotten to vote. It felt good to laugh in such an uncontrolled way, after months of tight discipline and work. Wiping our eyes and leaning on one another, we got real
quiet. “You won’t say anything about this to the boss will you?” I looked at those puppy dog eyes, that face that looked blurry in the way one does after a big night. “Nope. My lips are sealed “

Georg’ann

My father believed it was within the REALM of possibility that through persistent effort, in daily infinitesimal increments his arm would have the POWER to hold me as I grew from infant to grown woman. I was his TONER device, a means to experiment with the limitations of logic. What would be the point at which he could no longer carry me on his for arm? He only took into account weight and muscle training, giving no thought to other dimensions and proportions.

He also once told me the number of stories tall a person would have to be in order for a tiger to be proportionate to a house cat.

As I ponder the coming election, I feel his ways of engaging the world influencing the ways I engage being a VOTER. There is a distinct preference for delighting myself in ideas rather than practicalities, wishing to live fully in my own head rather than participate in the farce.

Heather

They AWOKE early on the RANCH, per usual. But this was not a usual day. I could hear them STAMP down the stairs. I was in the kitchen and had made breakfast. Again: per usual. I looked up and decided to hold back my usual greeting. We looked at each other. “Do you feel ready for this, Ginny? Frank?” As expected, Ginny simply looked away. Frank frowned, thinking perhaps if he didn’t answer, then time itself would stand still. “Breakfast is on the table, coffee’s made,” I spoke into the silence. Frank grunted, walked over to the gun rack and stared. I knew what he was thinking. “Sarah slept all night in the STALL with him.” Ginny’s face changed from its usual STAID, prim expression to something harder, more stone-like. I sighed, “look, give her a few more minutes and yourself a second to have some coffee. It won’t change anything, but your daughter will remember that you gave them some
more time.” Without a word, they turned and moved to the table. My own shoulders slumped a little, and then, per usual I started to bustle about and serve breakfast, grateful for a little more ‘per usual’ on this very unusual day.

Georg’ann

Our GROUP stood back respectfully averting our eyes, WHILE Miss Ann changed her blouse. The STAIN was too prominent for such a STAID woman to continue wearing for the remainder of the afternoon. Luckily Joanna always wore layers and had a shirt to spare.

Heather

“QUIET! I can’t concentrate.” Wielding the BLUNT putty knife, like a weapon, I wave it in my sister’s face. “Go away. Mom promised me we could go to the pub for some STOUT and burgers once I finished with the GROUT around the tub.” My little sister stopped her mindless chatter just long enough to say “Can I go? Will you play checkers with me? Will you teach me how to play darts?” “Yes. Now go away so I can finish.” Looking at her cheerful retreat and hearing her excited calling to Mom, I had to admit being home for spring break had its advantages. I just won’t be posting any pictures of my grubby self standing – alone – in the bathtub to go alongside my friends’ photos of Florida beaches.

Georg’ann

GRAIN by grain, the shore experience unites
bonds our GROUP like GROUT

Heather

I call out “READY, or not, here we go!” Matching actions to the words, I dash about searching. “Where are you?” I sing out, once, twice, and then I begin to find them. I ferret the chickens out of their roosts in trees, their hiding places. I end up sticking my hands into odd spots, clambering up into lofts and trees, startling other little critters out of their safe spaces. I finally have the girls all piled back into the coop, all DOZEN of my precious, beautiful hens. I place the last one gently back into her prized spot. Night is falling, and they are quietly clucking and I can hear the rustling of feathers. “You lot are might lucky I haven’t DICED you up and put you in stew pots,” though I suspect they know, as do I, that I could never do that. I walk towards the house after securing the coop against the local predators, animal and human. I have to laugh at myself, “get a hen or two, they said… It will be fun raising chickens they promised… Win prizes at the fair…sell some eggs, Ha!” Well, I better get the DUVET off the clothes line and grab some supper. I need to sort out the egg orders before going to bed.

Georg’ann

in the liminal time between
unconscious and conscious
thoughts are softly edged
reminiscent of sand patterns
under the CLEAR Caribbean sea
QUIET but not silent spaces
that request acceptance
of what the surroundings have to offer
Burrowing into my billowy DUVET,
I listen to the cat breathe
deeply in her dream state

Heather

The springtime SOUND of birds chittering and rustling in the leaves— a  smile flowing its way from my MOUTH to my eyes– to the top of my head creating a slow cascade of delight and wonder that spills down my back and reaches the soles of my feet– my hands, eager to join the sensuous feast,  reach out to TOUCH the damp, chilly ground– I bend in response to the desire, seeking the places where slender green is breaking through the TOUGH brown mat of autumn leaves and winter heaviness– my soul cracks open to rejoice in hope and renewal– I sweep my arms up to the sky soaring with the birds

Georg’ann

On a wide stretch of beach
covered with every variety of rock
we both FOUND the same one
among them all.
We were not together when we
walked the shore in meditation,
listening to the wave music as they rolled the rocks forward and pulled them back
Like hands making ropes of dough.

You took a picture
I carried her home
We both profiled her
The single element we chose to capture an experience as varied as the rocks themselves.
This single ROUGH heart, sand colored,
nestled among the variety of smoother shapes
in cool tones of grey, ivory, and rose colored speckles

Our one heart, etched
life lines criss cross
When days are TOUGH
I hold your heart in my palm feel the steadiness of connection
Friend, your heart is my heart

Heather

We used to meet over by one particular MAPLE tree in the park. We would sit on the ground, our backs slumped against the trunk. Eager to claim our teenage power, we sneered at the children playing on the SLIDE and swings, building castles of sand, playing with dolls. We were past those childish ways, tossing our heads, hair swinging, as we smoked CLOVE cigarettes. Cocky, sexy, vibrating with vitality, we discussed what passed as adult topics: DH Lawrence, Welsh mythology, Tarot cards, the meaning of life. Deadly serious alternated with exuberance and panache, trying on first one persona and then another, as if each was a GLOVE to be tested for ease of fit. We, of course, were playing in the park in our own way, though we would have been horrified at the suggestion.

Georg’ann

Sitting in the HOTEL bar, Leah ordered a martini- not one of those festive, fruity cosmos or a James Bond one with a lemon twist. She went for pure dry alcohol complimented with a creamy blue cheese stuffed OLIVE. This and a few salted nuts gave her great pleasure. She felt confident, independent, ready for her first night totally alone after 18 years of marriage.

Idly fiddling with her GLOVE as she sat watching the bustle around her. There was no rush to be anywhere, she was unaccountable to anything but her own whim. If she thought about it too much she felt light headed, drunk on freedom more than top shelf gin. The devastating hangover she’d wake up to not yet in sight.

Heather

Lifting my face towards the altar, there was just a TRACE from when I CRIED, yet again, despite the years. My beliefs had been tested when she died, and I struggle – still! I usually avoid this place, as it brings it back, fresh as the day it happened. I relive. I weep. And again, I am left, bereft, without a clear CREDO, unwilling to forgive or believe in a god that would take my baby from me.

Georg’ann

Engaged in conversation,
we SPEAK of nothing
as an interior voice silently screams
it’s the THEME of my nightmares, to be unheard
vestiges of the FIEND remain
in unexpected moments
My life CREDO tested once again
the scream becomes a lullaby

Heather

It was PLAIN to me, when I AWOKE that I was dressed more for an outing on some RAFTS rather than an afternoon cruise on a YACHT. I really misunderstood the invitation.

Georg’ann

My words evoke a particular STYLE
Lying here in my modest ramshackle bed
I am transported to a scene
cut from the pages of Travel and Leisure.
Imagining myself draped in a PITHY linen ensemble, appointed with the quintessential straw hat, sunglasses, and strappy sandals, perhaps simple bits of gold casually adorning neck and wrist.
The cheerful soft orange of an Aperol spritz playing off the turquoise sea,
our YACHT suspended in the clear water while we lunch.

Heather

It was a hard night, waking repeatedly and finally giving up in the wee hours of the morning. Chamomile tea, a novel that transported me far away, and finally some rest. Waking to thin, watery light, it was hard to be hopeful that this would be a blue sky day, without a CLOUD to challenge the light. And I was right. As I raised the shades, the rain and gray made my reflection even PALER than I felt, a ghostly representation looking back at me. I felt challenged to start the day in a way that HEALS rather than wallows. Good coffee, a warm bit of toasted baguette, a sharp slice of cheese, an apple that is crisp and not MEALY: this is the start to my day that will sharpen the blurry, watery edges, ground me in gratitude for simple tastes and joys.

Georg’ann

Far from its origin, picked before their prime,
FRUIT of all kinds travel.
Eventually arrive in some PLACE
unknown to their nature.
Shipped in a LEAKY crate
Caveat emptor,
most too MEALY
to justify the endeavor.

Heather

Constance carefully closed the study door behind her. She needed just a moment, even as she knew that any further DELAY in her appearance would wound her Father’s PRIDE. But this was too important and delicate a situation to rush. They would just have to wait for her, the star RIDER, for another few minutes. She strode in ever WIDER circles around the room, thoughtfully tapping her riding crop against her boots. Could she figure out the right questions to expose John’s machinations without risking everything they had worked to build? Angry footsteps in the hallway caused her to abruptly turn towards the door just as it slammed open. “What the hell are you playing at?” Her father’s face was beet red, making it look as if his ascot was choking him. “I …I am sorry, Father.” She could barely get the words out. “I just need a minute – I saw John last night sneaking around the CIDER barrels
I don’t trust him.” “Constance, when will you drop this? John has invested too much in our business to sabotage our work. He was the one who insisted on putting this year’s pressing up for the award.”

Georg’ann

Laying beside the pool
on a basket woven plastic chaise.
It’s late when I claim this moment alone in the dark.
Murmurs come from inside
where the party continues.
Frogs loud in the fountain beside me.
A rectangle of silent shimmering blue saltwater contained and still, like me,
even as I hear the rhythmic calling of the sea lapping
at the shore down the hill.
I imagine my prone body rolling off this lounge, across the brick courtyard and all the way down the hill, over the rocks
and back into the vast womb of the ocean mother.
Satellites move quickly across the sky,
trying, and failing, to disguise themselves as stars or planets.
The SCALE of the universe is held in the tear that descends along my CHEEK
memories release when awe opens the gate.
Another quite, cool, late night.
You and I on the hood of the car, hoping to catch sight of a COMET,
warm with hot CIDER and youthful love.

Heather

“I am trying to LEARN how to EMOTE, Ted. But it’s damn hard inside this SHEEP costume. And why the hell do the stage directions say to SWEEP in gracefully? Have you ever tried to do that with fake hooves?? Ted. Ted. You can stop laughing now.”

Georg’ann

ROUND and round we go, until we fall in a heap
Laughing to hard, we cannot SPEAK,
so very tired yet no inclination to SLEEP.
Our shoes and the wood floor both squeak.
We slide down the stairs – yikes so STEEP-
couch cushion sleds quiet the creak.
Our mother did ask us to SWEEP,
when she sees what we’ve done she’ll freak.

Heather

With nary a PAUSE, the little girl continued to SULLY the white tablecloth with crayons, blissfully unaware of the SURLY waiter headed her way.

Georg’ann

On occasion I like to have cinnamon TOAST and hot cocoa for dinner. Seeking something that feels like transgressive comfort. A desire to nurture Princess Peach Velvet Star, the flaxen haired girl within. The adult part of me more typically prefers salad, bread, cheese, and wine.

Pushing down the lever, noting the SHINE of stainless as I watch the coils turn red. This ingenious little machine takes up prime real estate on the counter next to the blue earthenware fruit bowl. Someone once said my house was curated. Which I suppose is true, though that implies a contrivance that isn’t.

While waiting for the milk to warm and the bread to brown I think through my day, eyes wander the room, pause to note, with no concern, that the floor could use a SCRUB.

Finally the “pop” that always surprises even though it’s anticipated. I generously slather on the butter and feel my SURLY mood melt as effortlessly. Every crevice gets a good distribution of cinnamon sugar, and not a drop of cocoa spilled while I poured it into my favorite mug. The perfect meal to offset a crappy day is ready. Breakfast for dinner is like giving the day a new start.

Heather