From September, 2019

Doing time

My son has a yellow plastic clock that I bought in a futile attempt to ready him for kindergarten. It has a face with big numbers and hands but no mechanism—you must use your fingers to mark the time, and once you do, you are already late. A second has passed. Now, two. A storyteller…

Slowingly

  Time races by Like a child Run amok   Splashing at puddles Wishing for luck   I anticipate Cells slowing As they will   Urgency and dread builds Then dissipates   I search for breath and breadth To fill me   With presence and peace   Not so pressingly Now   As I am…

And then

I keep waiting for inspiration to write on the theme “slow.” The only things that come to mind are clichés: slowing down in a sped-up world; staying present in an era of distractions; the art of doing nothing. None of this feels fresh. Frankly, slow is not sexy. The number one rule of writing is…

Just add water

The squeaky clunk of metal in rapid succession has become a routine part of my morning soundtrack. It is as if I am attempting CPR on the “Push for Signal” button, which metaphorically is not too far from the truth. I am trying to revive my morning by getting my kids to school on time…

The anguish of waiting

  I am, by nature, enormously impatient. I always stop the microwave with two seconds left. I just cannot wait for those two beats before devouring my warmed food. I often shoot off a text—or worse, an email—too early, not having the patience to give it a quick glance before pressing send. I cannot stand…

You Must Be This Tall to Ride

I wonder what it takes To ride the Tilt-o-Whirl from one inch below the line. A new set of boots? A fast fiver? A diversion? A boost so sly That a fluff of puffy hair Or solid boot heels Could mean the difference between Seeing the world And not being quite good enough Or are…

The case for inefficiency

A sigh escapes my lips as I bend over to stack the white ceramic plates in the cabinet. He’s doing it again. His comfortable warmth sidles up next to me, the soft plaid brushing my arm, as he leans in to set the matching bowls tidily in their place. Working together, the dishwasher is emptied…

The time we do have

“I know you’re busy.” My 81-year-old friend says this to me as I’m leaving his new apartment. He doesn’t drive anymore, so we moved him into town to be closer to church and the bakery and the bank. Places he can walk. Places where everyone knows his name and he theirs. His second day in…

The root of the problem

It happens here every spring. As leaves break bud and flowers bloom, people are struck with inspiration to plant fruit trees. Summer seems so close at hand, and visions of sun-warmed peaches replace sugarplums dancing in their heads. Local gardening forums are filled with requests for advice on what varieties of cherry do best here…

Flicker of hope

  Like many people wanting “more” out of life, I am often in search of the thing that will be the answer. Recently, I’ve been finding feathers everywhere. Mostly crow feathers. The internet tells me that this a sign that I am being protected and am not alone. When I asked my energy worker during…

Simon Alexander

How did I watch Her soft hands pull his stiff body closeto dress his purple skin Still cold from the hospital fridge  How did I watch Her face split with horrorwhen she realized his armswould not bend Not even For his mother    SARAH currently lives and works in Edmonds, Washington. She would describe herself as painfully shy by nature…