the edges of myself

words, words, words

I never read the rules for mothering it seems I was absent that day– perhaps all of us were. Carrying around the textbook burden of guilt, the weight of which mocks our shortcomings and reveals the all-too constant truth that we’re just winging it.   Each new day, another brave face– scooping up the pieces …

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the sound of my boy’s laughter tumbling across the floors and ceilings through the hallway and under the door– the ease of three generations co-existing– quiet certainty of a love that has always been and will always be– from latency a hand on the belly– small kicks and a waiting game– breathless anticipation for the …

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I found this photograph a couple of days ago in a drawer by the side of my bed.  It’s my sweet little baby girl, about two months before her 2nd birthday.  (Right now she’s less than a month from her seventh birthday).  This photo was taken in Oakland, CA at my best friend’s home sometime …

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yesterday i peeled away a layer one that had long concealed my vulnerability. Underneath that film– i found a need to prove myself. a deep and darkened shame, a tortured, broken structure that believed in itself to the point of actualization.   As i walked around the landscape of my deeply held beliefs, turned concrete, …

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