Held back by your tight
seventeen syllable leash,
I write elsewhere now.
Abandoned blog
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Held back by your tight
seventeen syllable leash,
I write elsewhere now.
Shivering at the
airport. Colder than O’Hare.
Turn back, refund flight.
West Coast starting line
pavement our road map we head
east back to our roots.
Despite my darkest
moods you reach out, take my hand,
and lead me toward hope.
Bright summer days no
friend to sadness. Solace lies
in winter’s dark chill.
Strands layered, length chopped,
I change, shed years, fears, regrets.
Why’d I wait so long?
Some days it’s enough:
an absent child’s return, a
dog’s rapt love, a kiss.
She cried at the film’s
end, remembering how much
she’d once loved the book.
We discuss the soul,
ponder death’s postlude, then choose
the happy ending.
Breathless, punched in the
gut seeing language evolve,
my own words falter.