Book Review: Am I There Yet? The Loop-de-Loop, Zigzagging Journey to Adulthood by Mari Andrew

Am I There Yet? The Loop-de-Loop, Zigzagging Journey to Adulthood by Mari Andrew My rating: 5 of 5 stars The best books find you when you need them most. I believe this. Like love, like a loss, like God, like faith, a song, a coin. Things find you when you’re not looking for them. I […]

Postcards from Istanbul /8

What a difference a smile makes. How it shifts landscapes and ruins the topography of the heart. And how it does and undoes the shoelaces of our reserve, our restraint, and our impulses. With you, it all comes apart. Ever seen a dandelion in the breeze? The way its wispy hairs blow about in the […]

Postcards from Istanbul /7

“You are a colander, sometimes losing things. Sometimes what keeps you alive is a mystery.” – Aracelis Girmay   Another night, another room, in another hotel in a city so many thousands of miles away. In my life so often it occurs to me that the more I love, the further the object of my […]

My body sends you letters

I miss you. From the rumble inside my gut I miss you. From the wince and gasping ache for your heat, I miss you. From between my tendons, from the twitch of my muscle, from the creak of my aging bones, I miss you. From the soft dark of my hot heart, the steady rise […]

Postcards from Istanbul /6

“She inspired you, you loved her and sang of her; her task was done.” – Franz Liszt in a letter to Hector Berlioz, 1854   The give of a soft pear surrendering to my teeth. The burst of plum in my mouth; juice dribbling down my chin onto my helpless blue shirt. The tickle of […]

Postcards from Istanbul /5

“Or give me back one shred from our hundreds  of days – a forgotten word, or look – that I might lie here counting  them, like sheep, waiting out the dark.” – Greg Johnson, Insomnia   Dear, sweet one. Gratitude today for the precious few moments I received to see you. Your face that I […]

Postcards from Istanbul /4

“When I met you, you were both for me: the sensual and the spiritual. The two can never separate…” – Paul Celan to Ingeborg Bachmann Paris, 31 Oct 1957   Precious, precious one. The day closes on me again. I am left wondering just how little life is and how fleeting our time on earth. […]