Free Spirit

Wet kisses down the curved spine of her back,

shivers, shudders,

curled white fingers, nails biting into her skin,

it’s too late.

In the morning, she feels it,

the pull of the shrouded mountains to the east.

Front door left open, leaves blowing in,

floating into dusty teacups.

The grandfather clock tells time to the yellowing wallpaper,

ignorant of

seconds,

minutes,

hours.

The chill is piercing, her feet are bare.

She climbs a tree.

Up, up, up,

above the canopy of clouds,

audience to the retreating sun and the chasing moon.

 

Her hairs whips her stinging face.

Old and white, her husband searches are fruitless,

his calls echo against the pines, against the deaf mountain.

A bird, black as the ocean depths,

circles, round and round, above the house

abandoned by the woman that long ago

morning.

A quick flash of a wing outside the window,

a glimpse is all the husband sees,

then the shine,

beckoning him, come.

On the sill, a perfectly round gold band,

her wedding ring,

ruins of a broken marriage.

 

Back home

Smartypants Chick Goes to Roma

So it’s been a little over a week that I’ve been back home in Portland and there really isn’t anything like home, is there? You can sleep in your own bed, take a long hot shower, speak English, cross the street with ease and pay with a debit card without worrying about racking up a whole bunch of fees.

But I miss my little apartment in Trastevere, the sounds of life happening right outside my window with a cool breeze coming in. I miss the walking, tons of walking each day in the hot weather. I miss the fountains and all the free water available for your enjoyment. I miss all my MU friends and the group dinners. And the art, the Italians… oh, Rome. But enough sadness, Rome will always be there, it’s up to me to visit it again!

I haven’t been very good about posting pictures on…

View original post 25 more words