Best Laid Plans

For once

it’s sun

that rains down

on this February morning.

Accompanied by wind worse

than ice, its bitter

thrashing burns

needles on my cheeks.

I sit on the bench


to write on this gusty beach

but the chill

has frozen

my pen ink.


March 1

The sky glows yellow,

a declaration: Spring is

near. My mood lightens.

Self Care

It’s a riff on the norm –

she directs us to dedicate

the morning practice to


Your name is my reflex,

but tears rush my eyes

like angry gusts of wind.

I breathe through the swirl:

I know this one needs

to be for



I can always feel

it nipping at my heels

playing peek-a-boo with me.

I think I have been outrunning it

since November, masking it

with the bustle of life.

The ever forward movement.

I don’t know how

its caught up with me now.

Maybe it’s stagnation,

weather and routines.

Endless gray skies

and 4:30 am wake ups.

My fail-safes are failing.

A glider cuddle only coaxes one

of us back to sleep.

The words come out around tears,

an unguarded confession to a coworker:

I feel like I’m always on the edge

of breakdown.

Maybe I need some help.

Dance Club Part 2


they crowd the space,


voices glittering

off the mirrors.

We drop the beat –

heavy bass, a challenge:

Dance Off!

The groups clap, count

legs twist

mouths smirk

hands call out.

They string moves


and for 32 counts

we forget:



to-do lists.

5, 6, 7, 8

they are all limbs

and hips.

Dance club is back.