Let these words unburden your soul. — Mind a cyclone, legs too slow, my sneakers scraped the lopsided sidewalks on my rush to the writer’s group. When I met the door and pressed my way into the studio’s warmth, my heart hammered at the sudden stop. Even scooting a chair from the table and greeting the amicable…

It wasn’t medicine that helped me. —

White coat dreams plague me — The night before writing group, a white coat dream hunts then haunts me. Breakfast! The cat’s shriek yanks my brain into the day. Glazed with sweat, I muzzle my body’s objections and let the shower rinse the dream from my skin. Hair still wet, I scurry to the writers’ gathering…

I propel myself from a world of worthlessness with a sea of sounds — My body’s savage cycle smacks me into wordlessness. I writhe in wait for another day. All thanks to a thing called PMDD — or, a devilish voice questions, am I just lazy? But I should fight on, demonstrate consistency, discipline even when my entire being questions the reason. Right? I’ve…

Wild creature, what is your emergency? — “The owl’s getting sleepy,” I told Connie as I gripped the phone, my throat tight with worry and urgency. For over a year, I’ve volunteered with my local wildlife rescue hotline, part of the “phone team” that responds to messages left by the public. I take notes on each call…

How far do you have to travel to find the place where you fit? — My winter boots still sticking toe-first out of an open box, ready to leap away from this place at a moment’s notice — I should tuck them safe into a closet somewhere, but who can unpack when “home” may spit you out, drained of your last effort? …

It’s not too late, since November was just renamed! (By me? Maybe.) — For one month I — in the spirit of Hemingway, if not with the talent — “sat down at a laptop and bled.” …

Is it e. e. cummings on steroids? — in unpredicted city wilderness when everything is crystal- swimming a single finch pierces the sky’s silence-blisters and carolynandfriends yelp from frost-taunted thresholds and it’s friday-glorious and their newborn-sled trash can lid flies and bounces down the neighbor’s driveway mountain. How I Got Here In my new neighborhood, at a new writing workshop, the leader…

And yes, that’s a problem. — In heaven it’s always 77 and sunny she said Oh no! I replied before I realized— my migraines! The light, a nightmare, an unyielding needle in the dentist’s chair (he promised lidocaine but lied through his teeth) Well, it could be whatever you like, she corrected—and besides, heaven has no…