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I
enjoy spinning. I have a spinning wheel, but the thigh spindle
is my favorite. (I kept the baby picture of my mother after she died)
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I like to dabble in oil and watercolor paintings
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In the summer, I love to lay in the sun on a sandy beach and walk down trails not often traveled |
 Asian, Egyptian, & Russian |
 Viva Mexico |
 My grandfather's railroad lantern and Chinese Happiness Jar with Smokey's ashes |
 Italian Ceramic Bird |
 My living room rug |
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Under the Stage
I moved and spoke the lines Just as the others But no one seemed to care There was a silence Drowned out by the laughter around me That muffled the knowledge I shared Knowing this I spoke on. I called and tried the answer The one I'd heard But the line was empty No one was there Yet the static droned loudly in my ear And the meaning that I felt Bled futile on the ground. Another opening loomed before me As the ones that had closed But the curtain was down And the actors stood out front All taking their bows with wild applause For the efforts I had made While I was as never there. Turning to my voices I tried listening myself But the louder I strained The dimmer my own sound Responding to that of the cacophony Surrounding my being And I was smothered. Now it is my time alone Where no one need hear me And in the distance A wayward journeyman Awaits the silent screams Just as those I swallow Purge themselves within. This is me under Hidden in the recessed stage Caring for those unknown Who tumble down around me As invisible I am Moving without notice Down under the stage. |
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