Perhaps it’s the full moon. Or the leaves turning from green to gold to brown, falling at my feet. Or Soten returning home to die or reading about Natalie nearly dying. My dreams have darkened and become most vivid and visceral. But I dreamed this: They seem to bomb us in the very early hours … [read more]
Writing
The Point of the Matter
He just doesn’t get it, and then he wants me to fix it. He thinks this shit just happens to him. HE causes it! I’m sick of it. I’m outta here. Who do you mean? My Dad, man. He does the same thing over and over again, repeats the same dumbass mistakes, gets himself into … [read more]
My Friends, Grief and Anger
The horror grows, with news breaking of jails for ten-year-olds and babies, “tender age” jails. “They are nice” they say. Jailers admit many children will likely never be reunited with their families. They just haven’t the resources or technology. Supporters snarl, “But Obama.” My grief and anger grow like a distraught friend in my house, … [read more]
Dry- Audio file
No one yet has said “Stop!”, so I’ll keep messing with these audio files. This one is from awhile ago, for my Dad, Edward Michael McDonnell, Jr. who passed. He grew up here in the Front Range in the twenties and thirties, slipping off to join the Navy to fight in the South Pacific. He … [read more]
From One To None-Audio file
This is from 2014. The grainy photo is from 1973 or so, courtesy Rich Compton.
Aging
-for Kent and Jane I watch Lucinda my dragon year sister older now like me generous around the middle with glasses too fearless and fearful on stage still sharing her tears. We have a choice: to show up or not. The house lights darken and the spots focus on us in any case. This old … [read more]