Circuitous Wanderings
Maybe all who wander are a bit lost
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Discovering Our Maladies
About This Week’s Post Fellow readers, As someone who used to carry a bit of hubris with her health, it’s been an adjustment setting up shop in a world that revolves around scans and lab work and a forever intake of thyroid medication, all rendering me liability and last-pick on the dodgeball zombie apocalypse team. What
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The Language of the Stoics
In 2006, I wrote the poem below about my grandfather for a history class assignment. Read more about his story here. “Grandpa Never Speaks” Grandpa never speaks.Not even in this country where free speech is our highest ideal. Not even in this protected nation where there are no Kaisers, no empires, no German officers. Not
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Haikuing Whether I Should Have Kids
Perimenopause. Is it too late for children?Choices I face now. Before, no freedom.Now, paradox of choices.And… microplastics. Every stores’ itemsWill some day join a landfill.But: independence. What is legacy? My great-grandmother’s choices.Do they continue Through me or do IStop because I am afraid. Not from solitude Or raising kids byMyself, which she did beforeHer kids were taken. But
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The Inspired Lady Drawn
Silhouetted figure Thrown! Bomb explodes, Reveal A Very clever Draining power Of the City. How convenient. We could Simply Plug ourselves in A large scale monochromatic figure. A roller by Berlin Forms the cosmopolitan fabric of sight Augmented by the Inspired Lady drawn.
Circuitous Wanderings 