When “hurt” is a euphemism 

last night I talked 

To one of the many victims 

Of your perfidy 

People who lost 

Because you chose evil

Faithful in small things 

Has always formed the acronym

I use for this well of anger

For when children (very young)

Are hunted prey in the 


I left without you

Even heaven could be 

An old broken-down house

As long as Love

Made a fortress out of

Hard-won pillows.

A field of flowers

you force me to confront

The connectness of all things

People who would be strangers

Become intimates of a kind

A field of wild heather

Bowing in the wind

Matter and energy make up these currents

Of air and light

Which bring me together

With the face of a child

I could not keep

She changed us both

Shaped the horizon

Into “before” and “after”

Please, Love,

Spend all these afters

Near me.

Facebook is a funny thing

I hold a degree in linguistics which I now use to marvel over the way social media has forever altered human communication.

We see bits and pieces of our web of associations and their cares, stories, immaculate teeth. We also hear enough common threads to form a blanket of associations. Others see their own threads and associations–we read discourse, all of it shaped by the constraints of a computer.

One thread I have been struck by is this neat little rejoinder, posted exclusively by the pro-abortion folk:

If you have the temerity to assert that human life is inherently valuable and deserving of legal protection then you need to shut up and foster and adopt!!!!!

Invariably I point out I have.

But I have thought about it and would like to hit this ball right back onto the court:

If you are truly pro-abortion, pro-woman-over-baby’s-rights why don’t you foster and adopt?

It would be good for us all. Trust me.

Free Man’s Birthday

Sometimes having an unread place in the universe is a good thing.

Today is my adopted son’s 19th birthday. I have had a difficult week because of this. Birthdays are good, right?

This one is important because he is, as he says, officially a free man. The problem is what will he do with this freedom?

I stay awake at night praying for him and his older sister. Afraid for them and the damage.

The damage they have already inflicted.

And whatever lies ahead…

Bossy Dragon

Both Honey and Cowboy had a tendency towards um, obstinacy. Neither enjoyed taking directions. Generally Cowboy got by on his good looks and lugubrious charm, whereas Honey had been pulling the grumpy-pregnant card a lot lately. And before that it had been nobody bosses me around, b–ch!

Neither had thought seriously about the possibility that their offspring might inherit more than their rumpled good looks.

So It was a bit of rough magic that kept Honey transfixed at the kitchen table as Cowboy’s frequent guffaws over the antics of his lovable tobacco spitting, rough housing handyman/fishermen anti-heroes roamed the New England coast charming old ladies with clogged gutters and tossing plastic-encased smartphones over the deck of their heavily-mortgaged trawlers for a combination of deep sea crustacean fishing and bawdy commentary.

Usually worth a week’s wait in Honey’s book.

But tonight she could not take her eyes off the book. The next handy
Iist was called–Human Birth. Oddly enough all the human figures had a bit of a scaly dragon glint about their eyes and a sort of goatish chin fuzzy. Oddly disconcerting until she realized that her own scruffy Cowboy had the same facial hair. Hm. Those glasses the dragon was wearing looked suspiciously familiar….

God is complicated

In 1996 I became a foster parent
I lost a kid to no-one-in-the-system-gives-bat-guano
I gained a thirteen year sentence
I got out on good behavior!?
I lost a baby
She was dressed in pink
The car that drove
Off with her
Was an suv turquoise
With silver running stripe
I can still see the safety glass
The caseworks overwrought hair
Took my baby

Taught me
Love searches the sea
Of faces
Never stops missing
Scans the horizon
Sees You

Haircutting ceremony

I cut the boy’s hair
It falls in curls onto the floor
I scoop it up
I could keep every moment
Of his babyhood
I could tie him
To the hand
Of God like
A boy tied to a balloon by a string
A string?!
How strong is that?
Like DNA strong–
A helix of thought stretched out forever
A unique sequence
Of letters
Of memory
Linking me to you
Little one