Submitted by nancy on Thu, 11/19/2009 - 18:21

After 40 years working with “at risk” youth, I now write.

More risk.

"Eggboy", a poem, was in Phoenix, the literary magazine of the University of Tennessee. “Reunion 2009” appeared in the January 2010 issue of Helmet Hair Magazine, The Southern Women's Review had "Grocery Store Heaven" in their February 2010 issue and has "Head to Toe" in the July edition. I have a prose poem "Sierra Autumnal Equinox" on the Black Earth Institute - Planetary Stories site. Long Story Short had "Water" a nonfiction piece in their February issue.


Submitted by nancy on Tue, 04/19/2011 - 00:45

Meditation on Loss at Passover Like parsley in salt water
I am grieving for the long bondage broken.
The period of the sentence defines the end of a bright hope.
The solid end offers a beginning I cannot see for the mist of tears.
When the sentence was spoken, I thought I was dead. Something died.
I am still here wherever that is. I can't say yet.
That harsh solid period was followed by a long full stop silence.
Here is not where I thought I would be, waiting for the world to begin again.
Just before I was laughing, yes, and strong.

Tai Chi Retreat

Submitted by nancy on Thu, 07/01/2010 - 19:02

Slowly in groups of two and three chatting quietly, the people emerge from the San Ysidro dorm to assemble in the parking lot surrounded by California oaks. Although we are in downtown Montecito, the only sounds we hear are the low voices and the birds. It's seven in the morning as we line up and face the instructor. "Ok. Let's warm up."


Submitted by nancy on Tue, 06/29/2010 - 19:40

"Mother had me upstairs," said my mother. "She didn't come down for three weeks."

From the Cubicle

Submitted by nancy on Thu, 11/19/2009 - 00:41

Trapped in a cubicle, I wait out the time until unemployment.
All it took was one person saying honestly to me that there was a lot of competition for the new job and I had “some bad press.” If I cry at work people will look at me. The girl down the hall has just yesterday gotten a diagnosis of breast cancer. She’s arranging her surgery, at work, smiling – a little sadly but not crying and I feel like such a *censored*. I should just let go but I’m afraid of a big fall. Who would catch me? Ok, I’ll buck up and talk to the keyboard. There now, missy.