Symbols of Loss


I am split,


  Stripped bare and prickly,


Unmoored and abandoned, a boat out of water,


Am having trouble seeing things clearly, and for what they are.  What is grief, what is diversion, what is the truth in all these emotions?  Where is my dad?

Trained to be strong, to deny feelings, I am determined to ride the waves of emotions, to go through another loss that brings up all the others, and to continue to live and love through it all.


I’m calling on angels, calling on loved ones who’ve helped me through this week, I’m calling on writing to make sense of this chaos.  And reaching to my readers who might say, “I know what she means, I’ve felt that too.”

Prepared to Meet With Beauty

 ‘I never knew anyone better prepared to meet with beauty.’

 So says Jill Lapore in her recent essay, The Prodigal Daughter.  In The New Yorker, she describes the trunk of her mother’s car, always ready with a collapsible easel, tubes of paint, brushes, and a smock, just in case she  crosses a vision of painterly interest.

That’s a lovely thing to be known for: being prepared to meet with beauty.  When things are in limbo and one day is like too many others, how does one see it?  How does one know they are in the presence of beauty?   ‘Not by just focusing on one’s self,’ I thought, as I walked to the windows of my apartment.

 Before me was more majesty than I could have dreamed: a momentous winged angelic wisp over One World Trade Center, right where it was needed; two symbols of hope coming together.


In the few minutes that I stood watching, a distinct hole remained over the needle of the tower, as if its energy pierced the heavens.


Of late, I have taken many photos of the new building as it goes up, each one influenced by the moody atmosphere: here an X of jets passing in the evening.


On Sunday night, dressed in red white and blue, standing up for equality for all citizens of our great nation.


Happy Birthday to us.  I am going into this 4th of July celebrating the ideas of an evolved humanity that embraces the politics of the best for all concerned. And a population that takes pride in stewardship over the ailing planet,


For without our loving attention, life on earth is as vulnerable as a dandelion in the wind.  But with it, there is so much beauty to be met.

Angels in Ancient Rome


Everywhere, my dear friend Kathy and I went in Rome, were angels carved in stone,


Reminding us of our innocence.


Under impossibly blue skies, above the Trevi Fountain,


In the saffron meditators above the Forum,


And beneath the pearlescence of a stormy evening,


We stared at the ancient miraculous,


All gorgeous reminders of our impermanence.