home. sacred life.
“Her umbrella was filled with rain she had collected
in her travels & on hot summer days she would open
it up for the neighborhood kids & we would splash in
the puddles & then it would smell like nairobi or
tasmania & later on we would sit on the porch & eat
ice cream & watch for tigers in the bushes.”
brian andreas, story people.
my heart is swelling at it’s hot pink seams.
and i have many stories i want to tell.
couch and allow my brain to slow down, play
with delilablue and sip on a margie while bryce
sits in his big green chair and prays that i don’t
turn the channel to the housewives of dysfunction.