This Ring

This ring has no owner
Poison – made of led
Given to me by my father
It stains my finger green
And I was challenged with the task of passing it on
I’m starting to think I may bury it instead
To make someone else my property
To shackle her to me
To package up our offspring and carry them in our pouches
Only to have them resent us as the gain their own autonomy
I may just bury this ring instead
And break the spell sent down by my father’s father’s father



Sitting in awe
Every event inspiring a new and pleasant sensation
Open eyes, open heart, open mind

Morning Cul De Sac – Street Lit Writing Prompt 07.22.18

I awake to the sound of Mom’s angry, slurred screaming. I pray she is not angry with me. Mom is never not drinking. She tends to get a good buzz going around 10:00am, when she first gets out of bed. It is 6:46am now. I guess it started early today. I feel a sense of relief when I hear the phone slam down. Unless she was talking to my school, I’m not the one in trouble. After a few moments of silence, I escape my bedroom, my backpack in hand, and hurry out the front door. Just as I step into the street outside my family home, Dad’s truck comes squealing around the corner at the end of the cul de sac. I’m sure he’s been drinking too. I step quickly out of the way as Dad’s truck speeds past, into the back yard. I am the first at the bus stop just a couple houses down from mine. I feel mortified as my parents’ loud fighting is audible even here. Other children slowly join me at the bus stop. I don’t know whether to apologize for or deny the disturbance down the street. Dad comes speeding by and stops with screeching tires a short distance past my friends and me. He reverses quickly, stops in front of me, and demands, “Get in!”. I tell him, “I’m good. I’m going to school.” He violently shifts his truck into park, climbs out, and grabs me by the arm. I guess I’m not going to school today.

spaces between beats of the drum

to let myself dwell in my pensive blue
owning the void
loving it as a part of me
and knowing it cannot own me
to dip my feet in the shallows of the cold
recognizing my warmth cannot be overtaken
to smile in my loss, in my sadness
to recognize to feel this void requires that I be truly full in so many other ways
and I will dance on
letting this absence work as spaces between beats of the drum