Your elevator pitch—tell me, she said. What’s your book about in a 3-4 sentence summation? I didn’t have an answer at the time, but this is what I’ve come up with so far:

Mine is a story of being the second of seven, each born within 9-years, and raised by an impervious single-mom. (That three-tent circus alone might be “worth the price of admission,” as my dear friend Nan would say.) I’ll also revisit the impact of my father’s compulsions, which resulted in unprecedented consequences by way of his genius, albeit deviant, manipulation. And I’ll explore faith vs. folly as they pertain to my mother’s independence, which was often at odds with her installation of the LDS church as patriarch by proxy of our home.

So this blog may be a forum for wordsmithing—pounding out, if you will—some of the memories that are trying to make their way into my book. On top of that, I might stomp in the puddles of parenting, wrestle in the reeds of politics, or sit on the dock musing over the inner-workings of the universe. Whatever I’m writing, this blog is my pond to play in, and you’re welcome to swing by for a friendly splash.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Securely stuck

There’s a steel beam anchored to the edge of my fourth rib, just beneath my left breast.
Pushing up, it demands more space.
Jutting through my throat, bluntly pressing against my occipital nerve.
Pulling down, desperate for the ground.
Ankles securely anchored in gravy-thick silt, 
I sink deeper in the struggle to find balance.
And then my head tips back, forty-five degrees, where the air begs to be swallowed.
I look up through aqua white distortions.
And I remember to breathe.

Photo credit Jason deCaires Taylor, The Silent Evolution evolution/

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