Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘tick’

All at Once

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 15, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Delighted, I plunged my face deep into the bush,
laden as it was with slender trumpeted white flowers 
and I pulled the generous scent into my being. 

“Honeysuckle,” James confirmed, stepping
closer to inhale and for a moment we lingered,
infused with the lavish perfume of June, 

and when we pulled away, he said, “You know, 
the ticks love hanging out in the honeysuckle.” 
We stared at each other then in emerging realization

and began to brush our hands across our bare arms, 
our bare cheeks, our bare necks. Is it true 
every joy has, lurking inside it, an insidious fear? 

I know how beauty calls across the spectrum to its opposite,
how they chime together like meditation bells
inviting us into the all that is. What surprised me 

was the laughter that spilled forward then, 
the way I flopped over at the waist like a rag doll, 
giggling, disgust and mirth mingling, conspiring 

to open me. Long after we walked away, I could still
smell it, the glory of the flowers, how it hung in the air. 
Could still feel it, the fear, how it crawled on my skin 

with its eight quick legs. Could still taste it, the laughter 
of friends, how it lingered sweet on my lips, like sugared 
maple, like the juice of ripe berries, like honey.

Read Full Post »

The Reflection

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 31, 2026| 6 Comments »


 
It was late evening. I was sitting on the couch, the purple one my husband made, when I felt the small tickle traveling from my forearm to my wrist. Not wearing my glasses, I held out my arm for my husband to look. “What is it?” I asked. “A tick,” he said, his voice flat, matter of fact. He pinched it in his fingers, then took it to the counter and crushed it with the bottom of a water glass. I had had a good day, listening to a woman speak about how she could still be compassionate toward her mother after years of abuse. I had gone to a dinner in honor of my husband for difficult work well done. I was proud of him and said kind and true things about how I had seen him grow. The skin where the tick had been continued to tickle. In fact, I felt the light prickle of tick legs walking on almost every part of my body. I had to take everything off. I stood in front of the mirror and saw what wasn’t there. No tick. Nor the body I once had. It was not easy to look. I asked my eyes to remember it is possible to say something compassionate, something matter of fact, something true. 
 

Read Full Post »