I've been challenged by reading Speak What We Feel (Not What We Ought To Say) by Frederick Buechner. As the title suggests, the book analyzes four different writers and their works--how they infused their work with the truth of what…
My sexy husband came back from a week-long retreat on Friday. Along with a backpack of sweaty man clothes and greasy hair, he returned with a poem. He had rewritten Psalm 56 for me in the framework of my chronic migraines.
I don’t talk much about what living with chronic pain looks like. Mainly because I’ve found most people tend to shrink away from the ugly parts of life. And pain is very ugly.
I’m experimenting with putting up poetry instead of fiction today (obviously). Feel free to riot as you please.
I wrote this after a boring lunch meeting in Breckenridge, CO. Beautiful place. And they have great burgers for a ski town. A child wandered around outside in a princess dress. I thought, This lunch would be much more interesting if everyone wore costumes. And, I want to be Tinker Bell.
I don’t remember if there was an actual swing. Just the princess dress. Anyway, that’s the backstory: