Nourish

Seven AM rowdy bird screams reverb in the oppressive heat
Blasting unknown calls as others sing secret lyrics.
The chaotic symphony infuses my morning with calm.
Serenity amid the clatter.
The definition of contradiction.

Peace

I dry my seat from overnight dew as
A shaky speckled fawn sniffs
around the edges of the patio below.
Her saddle a constellation of white dots.
White tail flicking intermittently some
unseen fly as she moves out of my
Coffee spot gaze.

Welcome

On this other new dawn the weather is cooler. Relief.
The mother stands in the mulch
Just beyond the pool deck munching grass.
Yesterday’s fawn bounds toward her mom.
Baby’s head under belly tilts, grasping teat,
Sucking hard as her baby tail wags at warp speed.
Rhythmically lifting front hoof in time or excitement,
Like any joyful baby thrilling at mama connection.

Nourish

Whale Tails

They were everywhere that cloudy evening
Gasping dusk beauty in every direction
Straight up vertical geyser sprays
Interspersed with barnacle covered
Dripping wet tails gracefully curved
Before the perfect Greg Louganis dive
Sucking a churning watery sink hole
Disappearing black with random white spots
Nature’s quiet clear reminder that even
Quintessential beauty is blemished

Your Fine Life

Don’t fly too long under the radar.
Your fine life is impatiently waiting.
It’s true. (Believe it). You’re missed.

There’s also real truth here:
Deep jagged wounds need light and air to fully heal.
This other truth is also real:
Unsightly heart scars are as inevitable as death.

The time will come when you look
Into your own precious core and
Rejoice at jagged beauty darned whole.
And rejoice at a reconstructed heart.

Broadway Day

Crack of dawn
Sisters
Train Station
Amtrak
Coffee
Big Apple
Crowded streets
High Line
Ramon with pork and egg
Cursed Child (Part 1)
Hogwarts
Albus & Scorpius
Friendship & love
Fathers
Hermione & Ron
Calamari & Eggplant Parmesan
Cursed Child (Part 2)
Souvenir T-shirts
Fiery Effects
Death Eaters & Dementors
Baby Harry’s Pram
Mother’s love
Fathers & Sons
Standing ovation
Curtain Calls
Hot Fudge Sundaes
7 miles
Hotel Pillows

Emma

It was magic. Unquestionably.

The timing that is.

The miraculous decision to shave her head at that precise moment. Lobbying her parents with a Powerpoint presentation on the benefits of a hairless head.

A teenaged Bruce Wayne.

A wide-eyed Peter Parker.

Imagine her list: So much cooler. No more shampoo. Money saved. Free-flowing drains.

But what about these?
They’ll listen to the girl without hair.
A modern day Samson in reverse.
And, most urgent:
Please release the magic.

How miraculous that the sheering occurred at the moment it was needed. Mere moments before tragedy struck.

The tragic and magic coexisted on camera for 11 minutes. “I call BS” flowed through tears from the fierce bald-headed girl with an unwavering gaze and ferocious courage.

And the nation listened.

It was magic that the timing was perfect for a hero’s birth.

Then she lead with a devastating “would never” refrain before standing strong, blinking through the pain.

And the excruciating silence.

Silence

Silence

Silence

The courage to be silent.
A superpower.
Pure magic.

A hero was needed and she was born with an electric razor and a kind resilient heart. From mind-numbing tragedy she emerged with a spellbinding look. An unwavering heart.

And razor focus.

She’s hope for our future.

True magic.

March For Our Lives, 1

“…and for fuck’s sake, Congress, please impeach that lunatic” said her sign.

“I love your sign” I called to her. She inched closer.

“But Pence is worse” said another woman standing nearby in the crowd.

3 strangers. Middle aged women. Now temporary friends. A Pence vs Trump debate ensued.

“But these kids. Amazing. I can’t stop crying.” Said the sign woman. On that we all agreed. Unequivocally. Unanimously. Whole-heartedly. With Hope.

March For Our Lives

The parents wearing matching orange shirts with “Enough” blazing across their chests danced to the blasting music (was it Michael Jackson?) in the middle of a crowd of nearly a million people (maybe more) while their preteen daughter with braces and her own matching orange shirt averted her eyes. She pretended to be invisible.

“Yes, we are your parents” the mom said, hugging her daughter while still dancing. The daughter’s crimson face was an embarrassment gauge.

“They are actually really cool” I whispered to the girl. “You’ll know that later.” She looked away. What do I know.

March For Our Lives