Small Stone for 3 February, 2018

Today Aram Khachaturian’s Masquerade Waltz has ear-wormed its insinuating coils into my head and refuses to worm out, and my mind is a swirling mass of blue and purple ballgowns hoar-frosted with diamonds that glitter in the candlelight.

Small Stone For 2 February, 2018

If I spoke with my hands and not my mouth, if my words were framed with graceful gestures and the eloquence of agile fingers, how would I whisper secrets in the shushing darkness? When it is eyes, not speechless ears, that hang on every word, would flirtation be a tango for two hands, and anger jazz and swash like Martha Graham? Would girl talk swirl and flutter through the fingers like a restless flock of sparrows? Could I soliloquize without a mirror?

Small Stone for July 2, 2011

In the darkness, whiskers light as butterflies’ legs dance along my outflung arm.  By the interval between one dancer and the next, I know the claiming paw is white-furred pink.