Skip to main content

Back in Service

 I don’t run fifty miles an hour.

it’s not within the limits of my machinery.

drop straining my limbs to your pace

before I break again.

the replacement parts weren’t an instant fit, but

they were made with joy and love.

I can tell myself the truth that I can live.

Formed of words, the ghosts shake and

fall apart.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Too Much Crying

 Everything used to be big when I was small, or maybe it was just that it was the same size and I was shorter. Sometimes I have vague memories of a hallway that I no longer know, each step tall enough that I had to lift my leg high up to my waist to climb up them. There was someone waiting at the top for me, a nondescript figure in brown heels. The ones that look like they have a T going across them. With each step that I take up the stairs, her mouth moves. I can’t comprehend that she is talking to me. Colorful paint has been put on all of my fingers by a tall lady, who probably isn’t that old but she’s so much taller than me that I can’t see the top of her. Taller than the highest tower that I can build out of blocks, taller than me until they go falling down. It was hard work to build that tower of blocks, and I cried when they fell down. I didn’t like seeing my tower fall down.  Just like when the tall lady puts the paint on my hand, I start to cry because it is cold. I do...

Meow, Meow.

 Here’s a silly little post about the cat that’s been wandering around my neighborhood lately. He’s pretty friendly! One of my friends commented that my messages read like poetry, so I turned the text into a poem. [originally posted on Instagram.] 💞 There was cat yesterday. The cat likes me. He was following me back to my house. This is not my cat. It is my neighbor’s cat. I cannot catnap a cat.  I still don’t know the cat’s name, so I’m calling him Kitty Cat. His ears twitch when he hears me talking. The cat distribution system cannot be denied. 

Dreams Born Amidst Adversity: Abroad in Japan Review

  “In smooth, methodical prose, Broad tells the story of self-discovery across the ocean and finding your voice. Unique and alluring.” A small store in Barcelona, smaller than an apartment yet crowded in among countless other buildings. With the intention of showcasing authentic Japanese culture in a space 10 thousand kilometers from Tokyo, Satori is a store which makes the most of its limited space. Books about Japanese culture lined one wall, most in Spanish but with a few Catalan books in between. As appealing as those bound works appeared to be, for an American tourist who didn’t speak much Spanish, they were far out of my reach.  On the opposite wall, stacked upon each other with all the organization of mismatched brick, was a small pile of English books. From the stack, I picked out Abroad in Japan, intrigued by the words written across the top. That classic phrase, which had accomplished its intended purpose by luring me in by promising the text within its pages was wor...