PUBLISHED WRITING

Published by Beyond Words: Anthology: "My Greatest Fear" (2024)  

On the faded rubber belt of the old metal swing set, she sat

Framed by swirling gray sky, floating above pitted drifts of thick snow

Naked crooked branches echoing arthritic bones creep behind her

A sleeveless housedress cuts the bony curves of her shoulders 

Her left bare foot slightly kicks away an invisible being

She purses her lips and takes a drag of a cigarette with a defyingly long ash

Fixed staring, glaring at the white wooden siding of her prison 

The one that he built, plank by plank, nail by nail with his father

Barely memorable dreams from a former life faded 

Her independence, vibrance, lust for life out of reach

Secluded in suburbia, with no license, bus, nor train for escape

Condemned to care for three small offspring

Hope lost, an eternity waiting to be freed 

to

           shed the suffocating loneliness 

                                                                  breakthrough the black desperation

                    dissolve the dread                      fracture the fog

     think clearly                           make decisions                       challenge others  

                                                                                                        discuss things that matter 

                    regain her voice minus the shadow of a hostile critic

           take in the world                               feel worthy

                                                manifest joy                   be adventurous, mischievous

to  

have purpose, forge her own path, find herself again. 

Published by Grande Dame Literary Journal (2023)  

A sea of kelly, emerald, lime, forest, jade

Heart-shapes bound by coiled, curled vines

Parrot feathers shoot up, heave in from corners

Clover creeping, threading a floating patchwork 

Canary colored buds stand stretching for the sun

Tall grasses loom and hover, casting blinds of shade

Tranquil breezes break the sweltering Fahrenheit 

Dancing hawks high above cast circling shadows

A symphony of buzzes and whispering leaves,

Chirps, tweets, caws, croaks, and gulps,

A steadily babbling bubbler erupts swishing

Water waves gently, an aqua sheet in the wind

One footstep, serenity ceases.

Ground tremors, quakes, vibrations echo, 

Reverse rain bursts, heart-shapes spring and splash

Kelly, emerald, lime-speckled blurs leap, dip, and dive 

Moments pass, stillness restored, Canary eyes blink beneath the buds

Cream curved chins cut the water, chirping, croaking, laughing bellows resume.

Published by Beyond Words International Literary Magazine in Issue 29 (2022)  

“Mom, I’m going out to play!” slamming the screened door behind me

Rollerskating over uneven concrete blocks, skinning my knees repeatedly

Pulling the brake of my Big Wheel, attempting the biggest spinout

Avoiding old Mr. Winkleman, watching in horror as he pinned Jeffrey under his car,

charging the old blue Thunderbird, screaming “Stop!” “Mom!” “Help!”

Picking house boundaries, giggling nervously during Hide and Seek 

Huddling during ManHunt, conspiring about our team’s planned attack

Glimpsing my father running, barking out Phillip’s name as I knelt over a mudpie, 

peering up as Dad’s hand grabbed the metal pipe mid-swing above my head

Learning the constellations, trying to keep focus gazing through Dad’s telescope

Decorating my bike with crepe paper, winning the Memorial Day parade contest

Tumbling down rickety basement stairs, lying still on the cold concrete floor, 

flashing stills of Becky and Amy atop the stairs, staring down laughing

Sucking honeysuckles, gorging back-alley blackberries from stained fingers

Playing kickball and wiffle ball in the street, selecting the cars for bases 

Doubling over in the street, dropping from Tony’s punch to my stomach,

kicking him in the crotch, getting grounded for hitting a boy ‘there’

Posing Barbies, Skippers, and Kens, directing dramatic soap opera stories

Packing my Cabbage Patch and Wonder Woman Underoos, sleeping over at Lisa’s

Sitting beside Chrissy on her porch, wincing at her parents screaming inside,

searching but beyond words, holding her hand, hoping she’d stop crying

Lugging my boombox and tapes outside, setting our concert stage on Jen’s porch

Debating fiercely over songs to play, belting out Culture Club, Lionel Richie, Madonna

Gathering on Mr. Daley’s stoop, staring as he slipped off a single shoe and sock,

“You girls know about P.O.W.s?”, shrieking when he pointed out his missing pinky toe

Drawing chalk highways on the cement, racing Matchbox cars, staging traffic jams

Plucking locust shells from big oak trees, making Play-Doh at Mrs. Gray’s

Moaning at the sound of my name, “Come home for dinner!”

Published by Wingless Dreamer, in Field of Black Roses Anthology (2022)  

I had to rebuild the deck…

Where we popped the prosecco after closing on the house

Where we talked for hours, discussing our dreams for the future 

Its nails were endlessly popping despite diligent repeated hammering 

Where we shot off fireworks every New Year’s Eve at midnight 

Where we hosted friends after golf for drinks and charcuterie

Its splintering railings wobbled, uneven from poor repairs

Where we safely reveled at the view of the wild turkeys, deer, and occasional groundhog

Where I winced at the sight of my obese neighbor lounging nude in his kiddie pool

Its sinking staircase footings caused its lean to the right

Where I sat on Sunday mornings with my tea, journaling 

Where I got bubbles of sunburn annually from sanding and applying stain alone

Its light brown stain faded to beechwood gray after finally abandoning staining

Where I questioned my life decisions alone while you traveled for work

Where you exposed your depression to our friends and exploded in a fit of rage

Its grooved banister fabricated splinters at anyone’s touch 

Where you gave your speech asking for a divorce, destroying my sanctuary.

Published by Poet's Choice in Paradise Poems Anthology (2022)  and in Humans of the World blog (2022)

I thought of you again today, when my friend Tyler complimented my cupcake carrier. I remember purchasing it over 15 years ago. He said he liked its layered trays and sturdy red handle. 

It came from a strip mall in Nashua. I recall feeling silly and frivolous as I stood at the checkout. I never baked then, and you weren’t even here yet. It was a daring and optimistic purchase - a symbol of your eventual arrival, when it would be a necessity for friends’ birthday parties and room-mom events at school. It was the first item that I purchased with you in mind.

I remember your sunny childhood room, buttercream yellow walls with white chair rails and matching furniture. The white rocker in the corner next to the window for gazing out back at the woods. I remember thinking of you as we bought this house, the nicest that we could afford, so you’d be proud to bring new friends home. We chose this town carefully for its charming community rituals. I couldn’t wait to take you to the annual Apple Blossom parades, Tuesday farmers markets, and even the town history museum - open only one day a week.

I remember your Montessori preschool near the ski slope, and the private primary school in Concord that I’d gaze at for hours while sitting in traffic. The plays and holiday concerts that I would record on my phone, while proudly beaming from the audience. Nights doing homework, flash cards to quiz you, teaching you how to study, how to present. Your sports and activities - skiing by age three, tee-ball at five, your first trip to the driving range; piano lessons and recitals, teaching you checkers then graduating to chess.

I remember the planned summer vacations with long flights to new countries, all to expose you to as much as possible. Teaching you about history and different cultures, trying new foods…excited for your reactions. The importance of manners - napkin on your lap, holding doors, yes please, no thank you, you’re welcome - teaching these phrases in multiple languages.

I spent decades planning for your arrival, and could fill a book with my mental notes. I couldn’t wait to witness your first smile, and see your reaction to every new experience. I would do my best to teach you kindness, empathy, love, and independence - all while building your self-confidence, cheering you on during your hardest moments, and protecting you from every possible danger.

As I sit here in my home office, with its buttercream yellow walls and white chair rails,
I am sorry that we never met and that you never came. 

Published by Poet's Choice in Realm of Emotions poetry anthology (2021)

My love, my partner, my stranger

You weren’t there even though you are here.

First best friend, second home, third rejection

Second degree, third accolade, second failure

You don’t know how I feel, you’re not in my head

Empathy, is not understanding.

Third crush, fourth heartbreak, first marriage  

Elation, devastation, balanced with meaningless days

Too much missed to ever inform...

Fourth funeral, second birth, first divorce

40 years, 40 slightly altered versions

You missed the evolution.

Merely a witness, you’ll never know 

The dark thoughts, silly thoughts, the inside jokes I have with myself

No one knows another.