You may INFER from 
my position (PRONE)
that it is all too 
much to be BORNE.
You would be correct.

Georg’ann

Comes SHARP
GRIEF follows 
ROUTE home 
BORNE alone

Heather

I am really stuck. My mind, a BLANK. WHERE normally images flow, instead, nothing. Absurdity abounds and the images clash, like trying to hang fish in the SOUTH or color in a dresser. It’s a chorus where no one sings in the same key, no perfect PITCH to be found.

Georg’ann

Woke in the night, turning
from side to side. Image
of a fish out of water flopping.
Steadied myself with attempt
to craft a gatha. Zen exercise
combining poetry and meditation.
Within wakefulness SPLIT came.
Not useful then. Held for morning.
No TOPIC ever in mind to begin.
Hit or strike, whatever the PITCH.
You always there to catch.

Heather

Having decided to FLING some steaks on to BROIL, Diana knew she shouldn’t dwell on how late Darren was. It would only further strain their relationship. But really, she was at the LIMIT of her patience. If he didn’t walk through the door soon, she wasn’t sure she could keep her comments to a simple “hi, honey.” Knowing that he would try to placate her only made her more LIVID.

Georg’ann

Grandmothers shouldn’t
let teens wander in Las Vegas

There was no one
to VOUCH for us.
We tried to WEAVE
a compelling narrative
of the long journey across
acres of hot blacktop
only to find chain link.
What seemed a shortcut
was most decidedly not.
Arriving hot, exhausted
and somewhat panicked.
I demanded to be heard.
No avail. Vida would not yield.
Remained LIVID all afternoon.

Heather

ALONG the drive, we enter into the mountains, where roads cut deep. Bare ground is exposed, vulnerable as a human GROIN, where wounds can be fatal. I look and imagine erosion, tumbling rocks as evidence of this injury. My eye is drawn to the signs of healing, where trees are filling in, roots have GROWN, like scar tissue holding the broken parts together.

Georg’ann

Nature imprinted

BEGIN climbing wooded path
grumble and GROAN, alas
carry little one on my back

Begin climbing wooded path
exclamations of joy, converse
GROWN women side by side

Heather

Scorn not the one in need
Never forget that
WHILE some flourish,
many struggle
When we are in our prime,
it is all too easy to imagine
that decline will not arrive,
that we are safe
until the FIFTH of never
But it is an illusion:
if a body you have,
then, some day,
that body will need

Georg’ann

begins AGAIN
gonna WHITE knuckle
path to new BIRTH
pours out FIFTH
drags on cigarette
posture conveys
resignation and resolve

Heather

The storage unit opens with ease. Boxes are stacked floor to ceiling. I begin, taking out a box, cutting or pulling off tape, opening to view the contents. Here, the SPOUT is broken on one pitcher. There, I REACH in and shake out an old t-shirt, stamped with tour dates from a concert at a nearby ARENA. Layers of a life lay before us, exposed, BARED to our scrutiny. We do this loving act, supporting family by digging in and helping. No judgment, no shame. And no need to lay bets or WAGER if this day will come for us. I doubt anyone is EAGER to see the inevitable come, but we ponder, silently, trying to imagine what lies ahead in our own journeys.

Georg’ann

14, out on the town

Unplanned we MATCH
in shades of plum.
Hair upswept, lips tinted.
Think we are all that and more
PAUSE briefly to mutually admire
depart quickly, arrive EARLY
EAGER for our first opera.
Eyes rove across grandeur.
Bodies electric with excitement.
Swelling with self determined
sophistication. Curtain rises.
Too soon restless, caged.
Whisper a plan. Depart quietly.
Go for coffee at the Spoon.
Giggle obnoxiously.

Heather

Let’s WASTE the day 
We COULD play HOOKY
Goof off together and 
find words that rhyme 
with MORON, like boron
Or maybe you play one BONGO
and I’ll play the other?

Georg’ann

Stretch of RAINY days,
lullabies descending from clouds
tucking baby plants ever more
securely into garden beds. 
MELON arrived at the store.
Joins asparagus and strawberry.
BONUS of global fruit markets-
seasons blend into one another. 
Flavors lack essence, too far 
from home, fed industrial water. 
No steady rhythm of warm rain
keeping beat like a BONGO drummer. 

Heather

The signs didn’t AUGUR well. I feared I would have to be clever, ARTSY even, to turn this experience around. But, fortunately, the ALARM I had felt heading in was not necessary. Concern? Yes. Emergent situation? Yes — maybe on the verge of urgent. But, not an emergency. I am AWARE of just how lucky I am.

Georg’ann

CRANE my neck, STARE
peace disrupted, BLARE
culprit isn’t AWARE

Heather

I did CHECK repeatedly in the days leading up to the trip, unable to accept that rain was predicted for the whole drive. But, I decided, a rainy drive is not necessarily something to SCARE ourselves with. And  sensibily, we ELECT to break up the long drive. And indeed, today was the real deal – serious rain the whole way. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a hunter with a shotgun and a DECOY duck setting up a blind by the side of the road.  It was definitely duck-friendly weather.  At the end of my final turn at driving, I had been gripping the steering wheel so tightly,  I was a bit surprised that my BICEP muscles were not sore!

Georg’ann

Coffee STAIN on favorite white shirt. 
Tracy thought it evoked lab coat.
Perfect weight, memory of Philly
thrift store. Hanging with my kids. 
Easy as watching the RIVER flow.

I’ll keep it, someday to be FIXED 
New color. No bleach. 
Joins the pile of cloth waiting
for repair, slight alterations. 

Raise a BICEP like Rosie.
Resistance
one salvaged piece at a time.
Gather with friends
for Stitch and Bitch or 
Discourse and Dye. 

Heather

Unsure of how I feel today, 
wanting to SAVOR 
yet knowing that some 
are BOUND to forget, some
will struggle and grieve

I stand at the stove, 
prod a pancake gently,
consider its doneness 
With a flip, I see too late 
that I am too soon 
it OOZED batter 
challenging my perceptions 

Smells elicit the past, 
a DOPEY smile on my face 
as I imagine kitchens of long ago
She, seated at the table, coffee steaming
He, at the stove, pancakes 
on the griddle. They talk 
about errands: a DOWEL 
for his latest project, groceries to buy

I, pajama-clad and slipper-shod, 
slide in between the words 
coming to lean in and wrap
child arms around my Mama
“Happy Mother’s Day,” I whisper

Georg’ann

FAINT scent of urine. 
HOUSE sealed, nothing fresh.
Throughout a COVER of neglect
Cobweb on the windowsill tchotchkes.
Faded peacock made of MODEL Magic,
spoon man and stretchy cat. 
Dead plant stalk still upright
held up with a DOWEL rod. 
Remnants of relationships
suspended. 
Attentions elsewhere. 

Heather

Walking past the bakery window, a magnificent display: from PLAIN to fancy, so much to choose from, so many possibilities to SHARE. We look, we select, we chuckle at our prize: a BEAST upon which we shall FEAST, a bread dragon with a grin. Oh, what a work of art made possible by YEAST, flour, butter, sugar, and a baker’s skills! Lucky us, we think, as we walk through the door, arms wrapped around each other, delighted with the world!

Georg’ann

I want to be soft, pliable
kneaded, not always needed
DOUGH rising in warmth
while creator watches
MAPLE seed pods spin
their playful descent
take my time to REACT
inevitable the punch
deflation necessary
to build resilient structure
trust no BEAST could bake
requires patience, attention
then letting be
emotions move through
union of hands upon me
in preparation for a FEAST
or daily bread
humble sustenance
only essential ingredients
water, salt, flour and YEAST.

Heather

Reading the news

Feeling kinda LOOPY,
Headlines seem so goofy
Can’t look at another GRAPH
Could we turn away and laugh
We ERUPT into confusion
We fall and take a bruisin’
What a load of TRIPE we say
Not sure if I can take another day

Georg’ann

Draped in TAUPE linen,
this ensemble having
almost become
some sort of TROPE
blending worlds
as she devoured
hominy, peppers and TRIPE
floating in an earthenware bowl.

Heather

TAWNY hair falls across a face, and suitors jostle one another for the privilege of being a LACKY. Skills learned EARLY in life – how to charm, seduce, entice; how to hide any PALSY of uncertainty. Face tilts up, lips part, low, husky voice – the whole exudes a BALMY heat that makes the air thick and heavy. A wonder to behold.

Georg’ann

DREAM of clear water
wide and deep
a single spotted koi
dive beside, body enters
splashless, at one with
emerge dry, seemingly
unchanged
wander rutted road, barely there
large puddles of mud
see rattlesnake in the rocks
caution without fear
move with respect
ahead a quiet cafe
settle in vine covered court
iced beverage, soft coral
pull out a postcard, affix a STAMP
glass and I sweat
air slightly more than BALMY
I hear muffled screams
then wake with a start
you in the next room
mid nightmare

Heather

I continue to grieve. I don’t know why I thought a one-day surrender to it would make it all okay. Don’t get me wrong – I am not in AGONY. It’s more like walking along and being surprised by a loose BOARD, by too much spice in the TACOS. Oh dear, that probably makes me sound a bit WACKO, or perhaps MACHO. Like I am denying feelings. No, that’s really not the case either – this is a grief over a loss that is small but complex. And no less tender, vulnerable, or real despite its smallness.

Georg’ann

TEARY time, open and flowing
like sweat glands at the SAUNA.
Purifying not quite the same.
Not seeking release,
VALID as it is. Truthfully
wishing for less to cry about.
Thankful I don’t have to hide
from the onslaught,
no burden of having been
conditioned as a MACHO man.

Heather

The house has been feeling, well, if not like a HOVEL, just a bit overly cluttered. It wasn’t that way to me yesterday. It is today. I can’t identify the EXACT moment when that shift in perception occurs. It sometimes seems like I can go overnight from being okay with a pile or two to sniping in a PETTY fashion at myself and everyone around, QUITE annoyed at the messes that (mostly) I have made. What had seemed minor suddenly is major. The good thing, of course, is that I get to enjoy the result. Therefore, tonight, you can find me, like a queen in her SUITE, surrounded by order and tidiness.

Georg’ann

Cannot CARVE a thought
from my block of wood brain.
QUITE a long day,
exceeding social capacity.
My SUITE awaits. Hot shower.
Fluffy pillows, soft sheets.
Nothing left to do or say.

Heather

I CRUSH the red berries
My fingers turn to BLUSH
I whisper SHUSH
To no one in particular

Georg’ann

Too easily ANGER comes.
BUILD walls, divide the heart.
COUCH loving kindness stitches
outward, complex tapestry.
Wistful to soften hardness.
To be cradled in warmth,
a mother’s soothing “SHUSH”.
Lips pressing softly into tendrils
as her breath kisses tenderness
through head, toward heart.

Heather

As children, we would play in the LOCAL stream. We were full of giggles and joy, as we would alternate between energy-filled play and quiet observation. STOMP our feet one minute, stop in wonder the next. At the FRONT of the line, the first to enter calmer waters often had the best vantage point. So it was on the day that Jimmy gasped and pointed – little fishes as glittery and iridescent as rainbow TROUT skittered through the water. We were as dazzled by the sight as if diamonds had suddenly been spilled into the water by unseen hands.

Georg’ann

GREAT feat to appreciate
the abundance of FRUIT
in the midst of pain and panic.
Thrashing like a TROUT caught.
Gasping for breath, longing
to be carried on currents,
swimming in clear waters.

It is not forgotten, there were
bountiful blueberries at breakfast.
A Banana for the little girl.
Cutting board sticky with mango.
An apple in the afternoon.
Bowl still ripe with choices.

Heather

“The PEARL – it must be here!” Frantically, she ran first a spoon and then a fork, and finally, her fingers through the giant pile of bowls, smeared with remnants of PASTA and sauce. The rest of the staff went about their business, ignoring the increasingly urgent activity of the new girl. Finally, a bus boy took pity on her and walked over. “Hey. Stop.” She looked up eyes a little wild. The bus boy calmly leaned in and said, “Was it Mrs. M. who told you that she lost something? Don’t be a PATSY. She does that to all the new wait staff.” Tears welled up on the girl’s eyes. “You mean…?” The bus boy nodded. “You should go get cleaned up. And welcome to the Ritz.”

Georg’ann

Let’s TABLE this discussion,
neither PARTY in agreement.
Each fears being a PATSY.

Heather

By some unknown QUIRK of fate, (or maybe just the hour), I found myself ready to be BLOWN about, pleasantly ungrounded, letting go of everyday travails, existential crises, and familial duties. I poured a cheap merlot, whipped up a batch of pasta, and contentedly munched and sipped my way through a meal. Now I sit on the porch, chilly, chilled out and content. I admire the WOODY stalks that will become heavy with leaves and flowers on our oak leaf hydrangea (WHOSE aspirational attempts to reach the sun are thwarted by the expansive linden tree nearby. I really should do something about that).

Georg’ann

On the TABLE
a plate of cookies
SWIPE a few
Then a few more.

Oh dear. Auntie,
WHOSE wrath is frightful,
will soon to discover
an empty plate.

Heather

A CRASH, cursing ALOUD
Swift, ADEPT cleanup
Order restored

Georg’ann

Mindlessly sipping coffee
at the kitchen TABLE.
This hub of everything,
the meeting place.
Entering conversation
you, a STEAK knife, poking.
I, a balloon, deflating.
Oh AGENT of despair
so ADEPT at disruption.
Equilibrium askew.

Heather

The wren flits, head tilts
exuding CHARM
The doves settle in fine
fettle, ready to ROOST
A pair of crows GRIPE
and chatter, what is the matter
Soon, the owl will arrive,
that DIVER of the skies
Oh, avian world, not
an IDLER on the spot

Georg’ann

GUILT had no bearing
her decision breezy.
She wrapped herself
around him, becoming
SILKY HELIX.
No IDLER in getting
what she wanted.

Heather

To be a GUEST
All prepared with care
Fancy BRASS bed
Candies and flowers
Treats and more
Ah, what BLISS

Georg’ann

BUILT blanket fort.
BLISS.

Heather

“I am not normally so clumsy,” the speaker continues. Christina points at a WEDGE shaped rock that was hiding an uneven spot in the soft earth. “I think this is the culprit,” she says. “Do you feel steady enough now?” “Yes, thank you.” The speaker pauses, then “would you be willing to help me over to my car? I am afraid my age makes it hard for me to ADAPT to this uneven ground.” Christina agrees. As they walk together to the elegant vehicle parked just beyond the churchyard gate, Christina resists the urge to make small talk. She hopes to be rewarded with a tale or at least an explanation. What she did not expect was to be BOUND to Ainsley Beaton (for that was this marvelous apparition’s name). It all began with Christina admitting that she was an interloper and did not even know the deceased’s name. Ainsley laughed, “Well, the Major would have liked that. He liked the unexpected and would have enjoyed having strangers at his internment. His family was always acting DULLY and boringly.” Now at the car, a smartly dressed driver came round and opened the backseat. Ainsley offers Christina a ride, which she is happy to accept. Climbing in next to Ainsley, Christina is struck by two things. First, a crest that is sewn onto the upholstery of the car. It appears to be from a DUCHY something or other. Second, there is a very dirty DUMMY on the floor, the sort that is used to train hunting dogs, specifically retrievers.

Georg’ann

In the morning meditations
on land and lineage. Followed
by gentle yoga for opening
or restoration. In the evening
SHARE playful yoga for kids.
Energized stretches, winding
like a CLOCK. Tic Tock.
Blow out MINTY fire breath.
Ride a BUMPY rollercoaster
hands in the air. Scary!
Curl up, hide in your shell.
Rest of the day be kind.
Never call anyone a DUMMY.

Heather

AWARE of the hour, the
SHANK of the evening
when golden light and
sharp shadows FLASH
across the floor, a jarring
CLASH between the clear
light and the worn
and dusty spaces

So, too, do I feel in this moment
a keen awareness of our world,
its brilliance and its flaws

Georg’ann

Here BOUND by fear
PLACE not often habited
CLASS stirs impulses
they CLASH within.

Heather

I made it through the day,
my SLATE of “to dos” now done.
My body sags a little, a sense
of heaviness hangs about me.
I MOURN — the passing of time,
another day older, all the things
that feel bitter and hard.
An ONION, some garlic, the bits
and pieces of dinner wait to be prepped.
Solace awaits in the KNOWN and familiar

Georg’ann

GROUP of individuals
weave and dart

In sunrise reflection
WHOLE is construct

I let go.
Cannot be KNOWN.

Heather

She was a PLAIN sort of gal, more likely to order a simple TONIC and lime (sometimes with a splash of gin, sometimes not). She wore DENIM well and with regularity, catching the eye of the astute passersby and ignored by the less perceptive. Those who knew her were a little in awe of her and called her the “GENIE of restaurant row.” She had earned this moniker with her remarkable ability to make magic for every restaurateur along the street into town, famous for its variety of eating establishments. Many a café, brasserie, or even diner, no matter their style, cuisine, or price point, had benefited from her magic.

Georg’ann

EXTRA person came to play
Entertained with her ukulele.
Soundtrack to the cloud show
slow motion on the big screen,
study in light, water, air.
Crystal CHIME reigned us back
from BINGE on sky drama.
Though GENIE is out of the bottle.

Heather

In the morning the merest TRACE will remain,
little bits of evidence, that WHILE the house
was still and quiet, I crept about like a little MOUSE.
A few toast crumbs on the counter, a used tea bag,
the cup still holding a few sips.
If you choose to see them, these clues will EVOKE
for you my restless night, my disrupted sleep,
while the heavy air and tang of OZONE
arrived before the storm.

Georg’ann

Oh DAISY, with reputation
for being fresh and delicate.
You, I would never choose
to GROUP in a garden bed.
No intrigue to your structure
Basic white petals to pluck
loves me loves me not.
No wafting scent of CLOVE.
Standing in perky oblivion
while OZONE settles in.

Heather

As the black-clad mourner tilts toward her, Christina struggles to maintain her balance in the close space. There is a TWEEN on one side and a gentleman on the other, so she does what she can to STALL for time and space. All in a flash, she manages to steady herself, the tilting elderly mourner, and not knock over the girl and the gentleman. “Are you okay?” she asks. A pale and PASTY white face looks up, encased in a black veil and hat, giving off a vibe both ARTSY and eccentric. “Yes, dear, I am fine,” the voice in a androgynous middle register, the speaker elderly, and strikingly beautiful.

Georg’ann

Awakened early
Truck brakes squeak
TRASH cans rumble
Tossed along the street
ARTSY urban scene

Heather

Standing in the field of my emotions, I am tempted to GRAZE at the edges, find small bite-sized bits to examine and integrate. I feel wary (and weary) of efforts to WEAVE the big feelings into a coherent whole. Won’t any effort to do so lead me on an endless CHASE for the impossible – turning me into an enlightened whole? That seems like more than I can do in this lifetime. That seems like something for my betters – you know, saints and geniuses and bodhisattvas, all things I am decidedly not. I am willing to dig in here and there, take my SPADE to isolated parts of this wild field. Maybe I can clear one single space and make a pretty spot in which to rest, sheltered amid a SPATE of my own emotions.

Georg’ann

Eyes GLIDE across the page.
Not reading so much
as a moving STARE.
SKATE over other’s thoughts
not engaging what I open.
Each morning brings a SPATE
of opinions, prose, poetry.

Some days it’s enough
to enjoy the chorus
of birdsong without striving
to identify an individual species.

Heather

DRAWN butter, rich and golden
On the table, little drips
create a TACKY PATCH.
Child’s finger dips into
cup of warm liquid,
too tempting to resist.
She offers kitten a taste and
giggles erupt at the result.

Georg’ann

No inclination
to RAISE chickens,
plant a PATCH
of this and that.
Hard work wrapped
in romantic notions.

Heather

The server said yes, she had heard the music too and supposed it was a funeral, over at the church. But she was new to the area and didn’t know much more. Yes, she confirmed, the church is indeed within walking distance. So Christina took a last bite of the deliciousness before her, settled her bill. She followed the sound of the mournful tune, surprised as it turned into a beautiful song. The voice now singing clutched a bit at her heart, stirring a memory of some sort. Walking towards the source, she turns a corner, and there is the church. A crowd in front, mourners, and a few stray people on the side. Christina joins those on the side, adopting an appropriately somber look. She catches snippets of conversation: “…would be so PROUD,” “hearing of this… SONIC boom,” “grew an unusual lily, … member of the ONION family.” The words swirled around her, not making a coherent whole. It feels a little like she’s prying, like looking over someone’s shoulder and trying to read their INBOX. She is about to go when someone stumbles, and she instinctively puts a hand out to catch them.

Georg’ann

Sushi held, we didn’t.

Centers of beet, carrot, cucumber.
Magenta bleeding into WHITE rice
held with dark green border.
We shared a FLAIR for creating.

Could have been perfect
MINUS his desire for a child.
I already had a masterpiece,
nothing more to give from within.

Playtime ended. Companion gone.
Long missive found in my INBOX.
Years later his regrets. Childless.
Mine a grown woman.

Heather

On the OUTER edge of the town, she took a moment to RELAX and linger over a CREPE. The tearoom was charming, just the kind of place you expect to find anywhere with “SHIRE” in the name. Indeed, she felt a little like a traitor to tradition, having something French instead of a good English scone with local butter and clotted cream. Guilty as charged, she thought with a smile, licking some chocolate hazelnut spread off her fingers. Focused on what was in front of her, it took a moment before she realized that she was hearing what sounded like a DIRGE. It seemed to be coming from not too far away. Catching the server’s eye, she motioned her over. This simple act was about to change the trajectory of not just Christina’s vacation but also a significant part of the next two years.

Georg’ann

Give EXTRA attention
color and form COVER
bare dirt canvas.
My favorite moment-
peachy pink columbine
with buttery centers rise
behind the speckled leaves
and periwinkle blues
of the Jack Frost Brunnera.
Soon rain will RINSE
stepping stones, tuck in
the newly planted.
Alleluia praise song rises
only from today’s DIRGE.

Heather

Such a WASTE, they said, as they STOOD by her grave.

Georg’ann

Your LAUGH soothes my spirit.
Letting go all POISE,
snorts and tears clear congestion.
On my SMOCK coffee spray.

Unlike the SNOWY night
when we STOOD side by side
catching snowflakes on tongues
and eyelashes. Delicate delight.
Lyrical laughter landing softly.

Heather

It was a bit of a DRIVE, but the dessert simply couldn’t be prepared without getting more FLOUR. We had been at the cottage for less than 6 hours. In the country for slightly longer than that. I sighed. “Hey, do you mind if we run to the store? I know it was hard getting here, and even harder to go out now, but i really can’t finish what I am doing without it. And there are probably other things we should get.” You give me a jet-lagged look. “Please??” You nod, grab the keys. We get in the rental car. “Watch out! Do you see that truck??” I hear you sigh. “LORRY.” “Excuse me?” “They don’t call them trucks over here. They are lorries.” “Huh. Sounds fancy. Or maybe like a parakeet, you know, those at the zoo. Lorikeets.” This elicits silence. And then, laughter. Then I start, and there we are, weaving down some narrow English country road, giggling about silly words, while trying to get supplies so I could make a cake that we didn’t really need, but seemed important, because what is vacation for if not to do ridiculous things and have adventures? I suppose the MORAL of that story is that sometimes the stressful moments produce unexpected joys.

Georg’ann

Government was WRONG.
COURT rules go all directions
none affect outcome.
Best BOXER can’t land a punch.
ROYAL screwups, no matter.
Lowest rungs of humanity
operating, no MORAL compass.

Heather

WHITE sheets on the line —
They dance and wave on the breeze
Carry them in and bring the FRESH air along
Bedtime will come and sleepy child
HONES in on the smell, a sense of
place and belonging that
will last until she is an ASHEN heap
scattered on those same bright breezes

Georg’ann

Oh my friend, what would I tell
of this MONTH, blending
seamlessly from last to next.
Arbitrary to call these days
a collection. Fast the slog.
No heralding. No sad goodbye.
Though the sun was recently warm.
Black garden cat sat on stone,
glorious SHINE to his coat.
My own skin ASHEN.

Heather