The mind, a dormant stone

Ways You Can Support 💜 Dear Friends, As I navigate some meaningful transitions this season, I’m reaching out with gratitude and humility. If you feel called to support, here are a few ways your kindness could truly help me and my little family right now: Help us get to León (August 14–21) so the kids and I can spend our birthday week together with loved ones. Contribute to our August rent — a little breathing room would mean a lot. Share resources or curriculum for advanced elementary studies — I’m homeschooling! Help me enroll in an advanced Spanish class. Support with vehicle tag renewal costs. Haircuts for the kiddos. New clothing for the little ones — they grow so fast! Help organizing and decluttering at home. Let me know if your address can be a reliable business address for LAPS correspondence. Let me know if you have a safe space to store a few treasured keepsakes from the kids’ (and my) childhood. Help us host a community birthday c...

 sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of pain sick of  pain. just plain sick.

for juan   lion heart feels like lying hard on the cement with my face down spreading lips for a little air  that will make sense for my body to take in and excrutiate exert excrete feign in the realness of this breath. lion heart feels like fractions spread over the pavement little giblets of flesh disgraced in the excrement of broken sidewalks and playgrounds. there is no cherry on top. no icing to veil this torment; of still beating and beaten sentiments and memories beyond these years of tired time that rims around my eyes. the lion heart learns hard the acts of others first knows the aches of destroyed rings uncherished things that marked the days spent hoardishly with another; only to be without them, these unsettling screams share vowels into the sky, a plea into the ether of loathing dreams; this diminished self  with bloody knees. it won't make it past another round of tattered skin;  the bones frown when it's time to remember, recall injury of once love -- ...

     Since I was a little girl, I was in love with wind, the land, and the proximity of the moon. Her glowing face shed just enough grace to soothe my tears in its quiet light.  I felt the depth of her passion, her longing, her loneliness, her strength. I sought the eyes of her face; along with their color, and holding smile. She traced me along the footprint I patted down; little girl beating brown; a tiny hand of mud.