The Bear in the Woods

The day that Miracle died we walked in the mountains. Two bears walked ahead of us and their presence seemed ordained, magical.

It was magical I tell myself even though she died.

Sometimes I feel like I am out of mantras, out of coins for the machine, no longer capable of telling myself to believe it will all be ok.

Then Casey Hathaway tells us all about the bear who kept him company in the woods we have all got lost in and

I go there to find Him too, lean into his ursine chest, sob a little.

Believe He is real, despite the feat in our eyes.


I have this picture in my head of her snuggled next to her mother. Familiar fue, familiar skin. Cats are predators but they are also small and fragile.

Miracle taught me so much about both strong and fragile. I cannot say I have come out on the other side of grief from losing her.

Maybe we never come out on the other side. I regret so much, but not the time we had together.

Wish words were the petals of flowers, thrown along the path to the altar.

Measuring Time in a Teacup

Nondescript kitchen window transforms itself into stained glass as I overthink which teacup, settle on porcelain white so different from the non-Euclidean trees green, alive, and fierce in this hot summer wind

I drop

two bags into the single cup, pour water from the kettle, assess how full the tea tin used to be

Last time we were alive


6 Minutes to Ballinger

6 minutes to Ballinger, Texas I missed you. Not possessing the ability to stop all the clocks, I watched windmills instead, recording the flat, hot, windy stretch of road while the Catholic radio station came in so clear with words of uneven comfort. I picture you a Ghibli bride, birdcage veil like Jackie Kennedy, always dainty, smallest, sweetest bouquet of flowers held between your front two paws as you proceed toward our mutual Savior, unswerving in his gaze.