Frustration boils. I’ve hit a wall. The bag of postcards I carry fall onto the ground, and the strap comes lose, letting my stories fly, fly, fly away, encaged birds finally free. How many times must I start over? How many times must I try to describe the same thing, and each time my wordsContinue reading “Blank Postcard #18”
Tag Archives: Poetry
Postcard #34: Tiny Home In Iowa
I am exhausted. My feet are telling me to stop, but my mind is telling me to carry on. We have been walking for hours, days, weeks, months, years, who knows for how long. At first I felt nothing, but some of my stories, my memories, are tapping into a deeper well, one I didn’tContinue reading “Postcard #34: Tiny Home In Iowa”
Postcard #32: The Wild of West Virginia
Time passes as it always does; either too fast in which we beg for it to stop and slow down, dreading what the day, week, month, or year brings us or dreading what we may miss as something grows and changes as it is supposed to, or too slow in which we beg to hastenContinue reading “Postcard #32: The Wild of West Virginia”
Postcard #31: Alone In Arkansas
I stir from my nap, my eyes still groggy and blurry, hanging onto the last snippets of the dream, catching them as one catches butterflies. The sun is casting its glow downward, turning everything to bronze with a simple touch. We are still nowhere and everywhere, mulling in thoughts and dreams and desires and pastsContinue reading “Postcard #31: Alone In Arkansas”
Postcard #30: Southern Bells of Charleston
We are back on the street, our bellies full, our minds temporarily satiated; although we are lost in our own worlds, ensnared in a web of our own thoughts. We walk silently, me, myself, and the beautiful young woman who refuses to leave our side. I am glad for her company, if only because sheContinue reading “Postcard #30: Southern Bells of Charleston”
Postcard #29: Misery or Missouri?
We are famished. Somehow, we drag ourselves off our feet and make it into the nearest café willing to take in an unlikely group. The waitress reminds me of the one in the pink zebra shirt, the one we left behind what feels like eons ago. This one is prettier, friendlier, smiling in such anContinue reading “Postcard #29: Misery or Missouri?”
Postcard #28: What the hell is in Oklahoma?
We walk in tandem, the three of us: me, myself, and the wounded woman. The day stretches on, and the heat blasts our feet, turning them red despite some of us wearing shoes for protection. Both my younger self and the woman hardly flinch, the pain nothing more than a petulant fly, but I wiggleContinue reading “Postcard #28: What the hell is in Oklahoma?”
Postcard #27: Meet Virginia
The boat sails closer and closer inch by inch; the wind is dead flat, rippling with life every so often, feeble yet still there, not yet gone all the way. We watch together but a part, our thoughts aligned yet separate, mine elevated on a trail made from the years spent working on it. TheyContinue reading “Postcard #27: Meet Virginia”
Postcard #26: Boston Tea Party
The sun tears through the tent, the light ricocheting off the orange flaps, and my eyelids are blinded by multi-colored stripes. I yawn, stirring. My companion is awake, stiff and motionless from the discomfort of a cool night. There were no blankets, no soft pillow, none of those things we treat as a need whenContinue reading “Postcard #26: Boston Tea Party”
Postcard #24: Into the Not-So Tropical Island
Breath in. Breath out. That’s what they tell you in mindfulness exercises. Focus on your breath. Focus, focus, focus. I focus on taking one step at a time as we finally leave the roller coaster, both of us a bit woozy. I focus on the cracks ripping through the sidewalk, the result of erosion orContinue reading “Postcard #24: Into the Not-So Tropical Island”
Postcards From Myself 