January 14, 2025

so
i woke up at 4:45
and played the game of
“what will put me back to sleep”
because my brain was too awake with
anxiety

so i learned some french
and sign language
and cuddled my kip and my puppy
and stared at a crossword puzzle
and the internet
and even tried
just breathing
but
by 5:35
i was still in my too-awake-era
and kip wanted to get up anyway

so we both placed some clothes on our bodies
and i bundled up with the dog on a walk
and fed both animals
and sat down to write
and now it’s just past 6:30 am
and it feels strange to stare at the outside
pitch black
and think about how i’ve been awake already
for almost two hours

but i suppose that’s what happens
when stress brain just won’t
turn
off

January 13, 2025

every time
we see a thirteen
in the date, we have to say:
“gasp! happy manniversary!”
even if it’s not a friday
even if it’s not in may
because every thirteenth
is our favorite day
[even when they don’t go so well,
or we don’t really celebrate
our anniversary
that day]
and we need a little more
joy
in our lives these days

[so here’s to
eight years
and eight months
of marriage!]

January 11, 2025

trying desperately to please
at least two out of the three
of my soul/mind/body

but i think
i need to think
of the systems working together —
sometimes seemingly in opposition,
but they are all 100% part of me —
and if i can align myself
in harmony
and symmetry
with all three,
i think i may have an easier time
within the parts of me
that make me
me

January 8, 2025

Cold

like Wisconsin was all winter

Cold

the opposite of what’s happening in LA, apparently, with their literal
red
hot
fires

Cold

the temperature outside is below freezing
and the “feels like” temperature is in the
single digits

Cold

but we have a house
and food
and warm warm booties

Cold

but this is only one day
in one week
in one month of one winter

and the days are already getting longer

Cold

and tomorrow may be
Cold
as well, but we’ll survive the

Cold

we will

we will.

January 6, 2025

the problem with my desire to write
both poetry and prose is that
my poems feel more like journal entries
and my stories read more like poems
and when i try to make sure one feels like itself
[or even if i force into line the opposite kind
of writing that most folks find stable and ‘right’]
it all feels forced and off and awkward in the daylight

so, i suppose, i should just always write without expectation or label or genre
or even a plan for any words that come to mind?

i suppose, i should just

write?

January 5, 2025

“meanwhile
back on the farm…”

why do singular lessons stand out to me
when whole years disappear
in my sieve of a memory?

i can barely remember the good times
and only moments of the bad
and probably just what i made monologues of memories
is what still comes back to me
even after i’ve long since let go of that story in my repertoire

[what would it be like to have the memory
i was born with, instead of the memory
i was traumatized to have?]