apocalyptic dreaming

i am apocalyptic
hospital green corridors
(always hospitals in nightmares)
why are women so bitchy?
not all women, sure,
but so many
eating each other
not joyfully,
“who put raisins in this?”

the humid, claustrophobic
left, right,
no exit because this is
a goddamn
victorian hospital
might as well be
daedalus’s labyrinth
and ariadne won’t share
her thread
with the competition

i am screaming now
not fear
fucking ariadne
how lost we are
i see you
i see you
give me your hand
just this once
and we will all be free
no need to slay the minotaur
after all

1SageFemme All Rights Reserve 2017


back to the secret spot
wind on face
whipping tears and mascara
into horizontal
fault lines
no use, sunglasses
inadequate to shield,
huge hipster frames,
in this secret place,
she hugs herself
against the coming storm
back to tree
face to sea
watching stripes of rain on the horizon
the salty smell
seaweed and dead fish
wet dog shaking
gull crying
she knows something is about to happen
but, as always, her vision
is impaired
heart pounds
breath comes ragged and choked
but not
grasping meaning
until only hazy memory

1SageFemme All Rights Reserved 2017

dear child

i had hoped to keep you
so much longer
told teachers to leave you be
told you to explore and run and play
you, who loves to dance
and sing
you, who i knew
would be bored
in school

here we are
you have been found out
not by your family,
because of course we knew,
but by that grade three test
and then the other ones that followed,
to make sure…
and how proud grandma will be
and how terrified i am
for with genius
comes a curse

dear child,
you are more that your big brain
you do not have to be the smartest
to be loved

i love your terrible temper,
and hope to help you master it,
though for now you are so young
and a reliably sore loser

i love your too-loud
off-key singing,
the way even as a baby
you swayed to music

i love the way you love yourself,
parading in front of the mirror,
styling your hair and checking out
your own wiggling bum

i love your stubborn refusal to pee
before the cottage drive,
and the inevitable
highway-side pit-stop

i love your sense of humour
creeping into my room
at 5 am
in vampire teeth

i love your refusal to go to bed
always “scared”, or “hungry,”
thinking of any excuse
to prolong the day

i love your cuddliness
always leaning in,
climbing on,
draping over…

i love your honesty
earnestly confessing a misdemeanor
and your attempts to lie,
red-faced and guilty

and yes,
i love your too-big brain,
but don’t let it define you,
my child, my love

i am afraid
of the peaks and caverns
of your over-charged mind;
afraid for you

the line between genius
and mania is blurry
too many ideas
competing for ascension

the clamour
can become dark
and dangerous;

you have inherited a gift
and a curse
that not all your ancestors
have survived

but i hope
fervently, feverishly,
that you will remain

1SageFemme All Rights Reserved 2017

Third Date: The Bartender (wherein I prove that I really am that easy)

I decided to add a chapter to my online dating saga on my mostly forsaken other blog, if you’d like to check it out.


Looking back from the lofty vantage point of hindsight, this date was doomed from the start. First of all, Syd was everything I find hot in a woman. Although she wasn’t taller than me (and really, that was an unrealistic goal), she was strong, chiseled, had perfect post-Beiber hair, exquisite fashion sense, and was pretty close to my age.

We met at a romantic restaurant of her choosing after speaking on the phone a couple of times. She told me, with no small degree of machismo, that she wanted to be in charge of planning the evening, and treat me “like a lady should be treated.” I know, I know, but that’s what you get when you’re into forty-something masculine identified women! Anyway, I thought it was sexy at the time.

Fast forward to a Friday night in winter. I was on-call. My kids were with their other mom that…

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Part 5: Found


skip ahead three decades
and you will find her,
calm and filled with wonder
her hands having become tools;
fingertips alive with a seventh sense
able to feel the barest palimpsest
engraved in dark places

the journey has been long
and she is tired,
having released many incarnations of her soul
to create this opus:

the angry girl burst
and disappeared
after she forgave herself;

the scholar dove,
swimming like breathing,
on instinct;

the lover was troublesome,
with a penchant for rescuing broken souls
thereafter enabling all manner
of bad behavior
for which she paid dearly;

becoming a mother healed her,
for in mothering her children,
she mothered herself;

within the mess of life and release,
she grew her spirit
until one midsummer day,
she awoke,

tears streamed down her cheeks,
not of sorrow,
for she was love,
in its purest form

her soul vibrated,
rippling over her dear one,
asleep beside her,
caressing her two
beautiful boys

she felt everything;
she crackled with life,
and would have roared with it
had it been morning,

she awoke
to the present


she is calm and filled with wonder
for life is love
and love is life
and she has found her place
in both.

1Sagefemme All Rights Reserved 2017


they hiked to a secret place,
if you can call a forest pool
known to all the kids in town

in the fleeting heat of summer
the still, deep pool appeared
amid rapids and gnarling
forest branches
creatively dubbed
“hot rocks”
for obvious reasons
some generations before

it was a lazy summer sport,
hiking with beer
throwing down wet bodies
onto hot rocks
or each other
jumping into the frigid water,
laughter and screams through the quiet rainforest

until Jesse jumped
diabetic Jesse who was drunk
like the rest of them
and his mortal, adolescent heart
just stopped
searing this memory
ever after
of CPR and sweat
and the twins screaming
Jesse Jesse Jesse

there were no cell phones then
only miles to run hauling
ghost Jesse
to the beat-up pickup
and then the loss
of time

fast forward to
Sophie dressed in black
without crying,
reading poetry
for Jesse
her first love
not knowing how my heart broke
for her,
my own first love,
how I had always wished
to be Jesse

1SageFemme 2017 All Rights Reserved


today my chest tightens
meditation fails
anticipation like ice
creaks into blood and bones,
a meeting;
my gifted child
at five
contemplates the face
of god
at eight it’s punnett squares
for bedtime chatter,
so today, today
i will sit across from her,
the one who left,
the charismatic liar
the drinker
who stole more
than money
and discuss this child
and she will smile,
call me by an old, old
lover’s name
and pretend
like always,
to be human

1SageFemme All Rights Reserved 2017

outside the spectrum

just outside the spectrum
of visible light,
the child spins, arms hanging,
not helicopter-like…
gazing up, and right,
in the direction of his spiraling

the mother casts his name,
luring him back;
siren mother singing
her absent son

the child hears all
and everything
his name a murmur
buzzing bee-like;
an annoyance
he ignores

the child laughs
and returns,
hugs the mother,
looking up into her softening face,
proclaiming “I love you,”

she asks him where he went
but he was nowhere
and everywhere
all his senses more
and bigger
and oh, so much brighter
than hers
he was feeling the whispers
of laughter on his skin,
the old monster,
attacking his toes
and all the while wondering
if he had saved enough allowance
for a new video game,

there, in the half light,
the child blinks in and out
of existence
tethered by love
ready to fly away…
the mother whispering
prayers to Whoever
that the boy will grow

1SageFemme All Rights Reserved 2017


I wake from easy dreams
Mind slowly coalescing into the memory of
Stunning and funny
Sweet and charming
Smart and fragile
My heart
Bursting open so unexpectedly
With hope and fear
Pulse throbbing longing
Through my veins
To be a real thing
To be what you seem
To be more than a dream

1Sagefemme All Rights Reserved 2017





yawned and
g   a  p  e  d
swallowed lives
easy as inhaling

she was


fingers frozen into
question marks
she felt


her face knew the act
nod and smile
an automaton
murmuring reassurance
singing lullabies
forever and forever
calling into the wind


she hid the


of her soul
until whispers
her malaise


she blinked,
her image
once more.

1SageFemme All Rights Reserved 2017