Category Archives: Grief soup

Fickle Useful Nutjob

Today, I performed an amazing feat. Today, I felt almost all of my feelings. I was present; I hung around for myself. Whenever I drifted over into F.E.A.R.*, I wiggled my toes, and asked myself “Am I in the same … Continue reading

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Between the lines

My face. I do not look my age. I look my mileage. This is my face. My map. . . Image: “At Rest In The Gloaming” by Steve Kalstrup

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Operating instructions

The moment came in the dying, then in being seated with the dead. Before you ever found your footing, the quilt was laid across your shoulders. The heft of it kept you grounded, so much so that in the first … Continue reading

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MONOLOGUE: Mrs. D finally cracks

Oh my god. He wasn’t pushed; he fell. He fell. There is no story here. There is no story. H-h-he insisted on sitting on that wall, he knew what might happen if he fell and –   And he climbed … Continue reading

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In the pines, in the pines

pining pinning hopes for a successful day on      me (oh dear lord) wondering if he was here and I was there would the dishes get washed sooner and the table used for meals instead of laundry would the … Continue reading

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