Monthly Archives: September 2011


He descended every night.

Some nights, the steps were light, and he found himself in a sun dappled wood, surrounded by blue sky and bird song, the stairs nature-made from loam and rock. Other nights, the staircase was cold and dark, a spiraling descent that saw no end in the blackness below, and Paul would guide himself by feeling the damp stone walls, moving slowly, carefully, the only sounds being the echo of his footfall and his shallow breath.

He descended each and every night, and lost himself in a world of dreams, in the blissful arms of Lily, his dream-lover …

I’m so excited to be reading this story at a special event in October! More details to follow!

the alchemist’s lover

He watched me throughout, an anxious nurse, brushing jewels from my eyes, kissing life into my mouth, and dressing my skin with vines of moonflower and ivy. He loved me as night turned to morning glory light; pressed to my heart, he listened to my dreams, to my soft eager words.

* Follow the link from the picture above or click here to view Victorian Gothic’s page on moonflowers, and get an idea of some of the botanical inspiration behind this story! I’m really excited about this story and hope to see it in print soon. Wish me luck! xo


Today I want to share another old poem. This poem was written when I was pregnant with my first daughter, living with my lover, holding all of my hopes and dreams in my fragile hands, and hoping it was the right path, knowing it was the only path I could have chosen at the time.

Revisiting one’s work from such a distance is always an interesting experience, and it immediately brings me back to memory, to the person I was at that time. Looking back, I wonder what I have learned, how much more I have to learn.

I find in the threads of my early work similar themes at different points in time. The body. Art. Love. Throughout my life, I have wished upon a thousand stars; I have seen my dreams shatter in the blackness of night. And with each new sun, a new hope arises – a chance to grow, to evolve, to change.

I wish I could speak with the girl I was in this poem, maybe even warn her about the future. I want to take away all of the future pain and hurt and loss, and replace it with the sweetness of this wish. I feel her trembling heart, so hopeful, so hopeful.

And I am thankful that I still feel hope. Today I feel such love for the girl I was, knowing how she failed, knowing how she tried. I caress the broken places, whisper songs of healing, and cast my wishes, so close to my heart, to root in the earth, to bloom across the bright and luminous sky.


It has taken me four months
to become a woman; I am
a woman with child,
blooming in the center of me.
When he entered it was through
the thighs of a girl, pretending
she was all grown up.

I watch the way my life is
turning, this life inside me
slowly growing –
at night he rubs my swelling
body, and wraps his arms
around my fears.
We think our love will take us
through this, I don’t know

if I can love him any more
than I do right now.
In our dim apartment, I read
by candlelight and he fills the
space of sound with music.
We look at each other and smile
never thinking we could turn
to each other on a cold winter
day – blaming, resentful.

We wonder if love is enough
and strive in our Art,
hoping if nothing else
his songs will be lullabies
and my poems bedtime stories.
All for our child, our dreams
emerge like dying stars;
we shut our eyes tight and wish
Originally published in The Butterfly Chronicles.


Just recently, I wrote a blog post about September. Yet, here I am today … the weather is sunny and warm, reminiscent of summer.

The last several days have been cold and rainy. I was beginning to fall into depression at the sudden change that Sepetember brings. But today, I feel more hopeful, more renewed; these last breezes of summer temper the beginning of fall.

I see the plants in the garden welcoming the sun as late flowers burst into heavy blossom, and I know I will see it in my children’s flushed faces when they come home from school. I have a little more time … these moments are but pieces of sun.

Today I wanted to share a recent poem:


we sat together closely, hands
touching, arms and legs bare,

while fireflies lit the night
with their shy and brief flame,

looking for a match, for another
soul awake and alive, to share

the soft breeze, to feel summer
swiftly moving across the sky

I laid my head on his shoulder
and he kissed me, as the world

shone with possibilities, sweet
intoxications, love. All of our

blessings, our dreams and gifts,
are touched by angel’s wings;

our souls rush to the surface, in
recognition, in greeting, and the

whole universe shines within,
enchanting our eyes with stars.


The winds blow cooler now. They are lighter, and carry the scent of change. September, month of the fall equinox. September, back to school.

Neither student nor teacher, my displacement is bittersweet. As a parent, back-to-school supplies are expensive. Pens, pencils, folders, rulers, markers, binders, and notebooks, blank with crisp pages, waiting to be written upon.

A new school year, a new beginning. The children are nervous and excited. I hold the supply list, hope stained with black ink, the paper in my hands is tired and worn.

I woke up this morning thinking Rope around my neck. Pressure from all sides. Do more. Be more. What?

All around me is deadly lightness – sweet, seductive, devastating lightness. And there are my dreams, spiraling and spinning, floating as falling leaves, bound to fall.