There stands a pin oak
straight and sturdy in our front yard, her trunk mottled by
nubs of amputated limbs, lobbed off for daring
to venture too close to a neighbor’s roof;
here is where the bark grows stronger, each wrinkle
a testament to her wisdom
and survival Continue reading Lessons from the oak
It means:
holding the power of softness and quickness, of words and song, of compassion and forgiveness;
but sometimes forgetting that these qualities are not weak, but Mighty, and therefore shrinking, despite ourselves Continue reading What does it mean to be a Woman?
Dear Humans of the World:
I have one question for you.
What are your dreams? Continue reading One Question: What are your Dreams?
This was a fun and liberating creative writing exercise: I went back through my journals dating from the start of the coronavirus closures and read through my scribbles. I pulled out words and phrases that jumped out at me. Once I pieced them together I had created a poem that described the twisted and ragged weeks of quarantine and reopening. Continue reading Pandemic Journaling
Middle Age. Middle Ground. Halfway Point. Up the hill; down the hill; over the hill.
What’s next? Who am I now? Continue reading The Middle Ages
I walked with my friend into her darkness yesterday. She is in the midst of raw pain from a new divorce; lonely, shaken, exposed, angry, wild, and new. She was breaking loose from years in shackles. She needed to at once curl into her tenderized soul and nurse the open wounds of failed dreams and yet spread her wings in the updraft of full abandonment. I followed her into the darkness like a cautious … Continue reading Into the Darkness
we strive to find a silence that is so elusive in the cacophony of our own minds, but the silence of others is maddening. Continue reading Silence
morning hangs heavy
saturated
warm;
my preoccupations
palpable
even to the
tiny creatures
of the suburban
understory,
what with their
fluttering
scurrying
pecking Continue reading Birdbrain
Here’s to the mamas
who sniffed the necks of their newborn babies and those who
could finally stop pacing when the adoption papers came through. Continue reading To all the Mamas (a toast)
Just a field of weeds? Or maybe it’s a million chances for wonder. ©Vixen Lea 2020 Continue reading Dandelion Clocks (a haiku)
