Tag Archives: Prose Flows

Roots and Wings

Roots and Wings God isn’t looking for me That’s okay He’s busy Lots of heartache going on Too much trouble all around People don’t see people can’t see people don’t wanna see people My god have you seen the news? I can’t believe what’s going on Ain’t new ain’t nothing but old news Still it’s an awful …

Jellybeans and Bed Sheets

From: Jacqueline Cioffa <choff777@aol.com> Subject: jelly beans and bed sheets Date: April 10, 2007 7:39:59 AM EDT To: Jacqueline Cioffa <choff777@aol.com> I wrote Jellybeans and Bed Sheets some time ago. Time didn’t pause for me but the memories I still own. Jellybeans and Bed Sheets by Jacqueline Cioffa Miami, the beach sand sun moon and stars. There …

Grow Your Garden a love of self

Loving yourself takes time. I didn’t know not exactly, not until this moment. I never believed brushing aside the possibility of happy. Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow I’ll embrace the quirks and eccentrities. Tomorrow. Funny time wasted. Not funny. This end of April Sunday close to May, I stand at the fault line. Middle-aged. The compost pile is toppling from all …

for the love of a dog

Wouldn’t it be lovely if kindness, loyalty and showers of affection were our biggest faults? Wouldn’t it though? It would be awfully, awfully nice. It is lovely in the company of my shadow. The spirit animal who teaches me patiently and without judgement the crazy curious inexplicable mystery that is uncomplicated love. For one glorious moment I forget, all the exhausting complicated …

On the Walk

Last night ‘on the walk’ Lupe and I saw a shadow in the midnight black, bone-chilling distance. An elderly man lying helpless in the snow, black cold, car door wide open, -7 degrees below. He lives two doors down, a neighbor and I don’t know him at all. I tried to lift him with my will, powerless to pull …

Happy, The Gyre Current Illusion

“It all comes back to a red metal bench in the woods, on a small hill by a nothing special pond. The air is sweet and wet and fall is here for now. Ducks sleep near the brisk, damp water waiting to take flight to sunnier places, offering no solution. I shiver and squirm in my own discomfort, clenching the bench, determined to will myself better. I’ll sit there god damn it, I’m as stubborn as you, until there is something to look forward to. I’m not pretending rosy and cheery just maybe a hint of curiosity.