Can I have it, baby?

Can I have your pain?
Friday night?

In the darkest hour when you felt so overwhelmed with sorrow you thought you would burst?

Can I have the knife?
The knife you used to cut into your beautiful smooth white skin to release the pressure of your sorrow and fear.

Can I hold you in my arms?
My little girl, my big girl.

Sunday afternoon.
“Pinkie promise you won’t tell my secret.”
The moment you pulled your sleeves up and revealed your blood-red arms.

I close my eyes.
Breathing slowly through my nose.
My tongue sucked to the roof of my mouth, dry.


I hold open my arms, you fall into me.
My little girl, my big girl.

Can I have your tear’s, baby?
Can the salt of my tear’s heal as the balm of Gilead?
Can my arms hold, bandage your wounds?

My little girl, my big girl.

Did the slick coolness of the blade help you feel better?
Did the knife-edge numb your pain?
Did the cut make your sorrow go away?

“No, Mommy, No.”

We’re not so different. You and I
My little girl, my big girl.

I didn’t choose a knife to numb my pain
The slick coolness of drink.
It didn’t make my sorrow go away.

I have to learn.
My little girl, my big girl.
To use my voice.
I dig deep within my gut and find my strength. It is there.

Your strength is within you. I know this. I placed it there.
I planted seeds of strength and courage, and voice when you were at my breast,
I whispered words and melodies into your soul as you suckled.

You are fertile ground.
Solid, rich, full.
Dig deep.

My little girl, my big girl

You have what you need.
I “pinkie promise” I will always and forever be your gardener;
and tender of your soul.


Sex and laundry…oh my

Perhaps it’s the mood music playing while I am sorting dirty laundry. I’m not sure.

Whites in THAT corner…his eyes lock on mine from across the kitchen.
Dark clothes in the OTHER corner…he approaches me.

I turn and open the washer door. He cups my face in his hand.
I turn, shyly, and fill the machine with dirty clothes. He leans in and grazes my lips with barely a kiss and then a bite! WOW ZING!!

I turn the machine on. The water starts cold. As with foreplay it takes a while for things to warm up.

The water is coming in faster and faster.
Soap mixing with dirty clothes.

We, now hand in hand, warming up kissing. Lips, eyes, ear lobes, nape of neck.

Wash tub is full, agitation begins.
Panties and bras tossed about.
Soap suds bouncing around.
Froth building

We fall.
Limbs tangled. Steam rising. Rhythm joining.

A slow steady wash cycle. Back and forth.
Music in it’s swish swish swish.

We are making our own music.
Slow steady music of two hearts beating as one.
We beat, sweat, and breathe in union.

The washer clicks to spin.
A sudden pause..For rest?

We look at each other.
We pause.

And then we spin.
Arms up over my head I am ready.
We spin together.
We are spent, dried out, spun, and washed clean.

Damn, I love laundry days.