In this hall we make our lives,
selling ideas and making jokes.
In this hall we reign supreme
making decisions for the world.

This hall has seen it all;
our triumphs, our upsets, our failures.
Unrealized dreams and broken hearts.
Fighting, arguments,
Discussions of how the world is going to hell.
Laughter, loving times, moments of friendship.

MARAH

Give me another!
Fill it to the brim!
When the heart is
empty and dour.
But remember the adage
“No holds barred”
So choose your flavor
of the hour.

Ah, ‘tis pleasing to the eye
With just a fleeting glance.
Gaze a little longer,
And you’ll fall into a trance.

A bump in the long stretch woke me
The scene beyond the glass unfamiliar
Enigmatic clumps of thick white hug the ground
Thick bristles of weed emerging
A bird swoops down
Disappearing in the hazy thickets
Surfacing moments later
Mouth laden.

I never saw that in Philadelphia
I guess this is what seeing the world feels like.

The two girls sat opposite of each other in the room, one sitting quietly while the other absent mindedly played with the page corners of a magazine, pretending to read.
“You aren’t the same anymore,” said the first girl.
“What are you talking about?” said the other, still looking down.
“I used to feel like I could tell you anything and no matter what you wouldn’t judge me. Or I could not say anything at all, just like we were, but it used to be okay. We were comfortable like that.”
“Oh come on you can still talk to me. I invited you here didn’t I?”
“Yeah. I guess. But how come you don’t talk to me anymore? I don’t even know who you like.”
“Well I don’t like anyone.”
“I see you talking with those other girls. You are always whispering and running off together. We used to do that. Remember when we would go on walks and just talk for hours?” she asked. “I don’t think those girls even like me.”
“They like you just fine. They want to be friends with you but they said it’s hard.”
“What do they mean? I try to be nice to them, but they never talk to me. And they never want to invite me.”
“Oh come on now you are just being dumb. We always invite you.”
“That’s not true. What about the other day at lunch?”
“That was different. She was having a bad day so we took her out. I thought it would be awkward for you.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“She’s fine.”

Why is it that kids cannot wake you up mornings in a civil manner? They become these creepy little midgets who hover over you in your sleep. Seven out of seven days of the week, I’m forced awake by the feeling that someone is staring at me. I crack one eyelid open ever so slightly and am face to face with my son, who has been standing there for God only knows how long, breathing on me.

After a nice long scream, groggily beating my comforter to death and making sure I’ve not wet myself, I officially come awake. I don’t have to drink coffee in the mornings. I have a nice cup-o’ adrenaline. It saves me a fortune in caffeine, but I end up having to use what I’ve saved to dye the grey from my hair each month.

After settling myself down and allowing my brain a moment to register that no, I am not about to be murdered, the talking begins. I’m never greeted with “Good Morning! How did you sleep?” It’s always, “Hey, I’m hungry!” or “If I accidentally ate a plastic dinosaur, would that be bad?”

“You’ll have to wait until Mommy’s stroke is over, then we can talk about food.” I’ll tell him, hoping he’ll leave me to it and come back an hour later. This never happens.

I took one step, then another, carefully placing my foot in front of the other. The soft, squishy sand felt great beneath my tired feet, getting between my toes and around my heel. The foot prints I’d left behind were carefully molded into the sand, only to be washed away by the oceans calm, luke-warm waves. The salty sea wind whipped my hair across my face, while the waves brushed up against my feet, leaving seaweed between my toes.

Little kids, no older than 6, were attempting to build sand castles near the shoreline. They were calm, happy, the same feeling I get when I’m at the beach. As I took another step, I felt a small poke beneath my foot. Looking down, I saw a small conch shell, a brilliant shade of orange with a red line twisting around it. It was a prize shell, a miracle. And it was mine to keep forever, the memories of walking along the beach kept inside.

Our Ride

Dangerously exciting, yet calming to the soul
Straddle and sit with arms wrapped tightly
Wrapped not with fear, but more an embrace
Open roads and nature is our view

Wind at my face, blowing hair down my back
Blacktop rolling beneath my feet
Spring illuminates within the fragrant breeze
No map or destination to achieve

Only time and creation lead our way
Powerful and loud into the bends and twists
Along the pathway, two souls unite
Wild, yet in control masculinity exudes
Mirrored chrome so impressively reflects

Gentle touch upon my knee sends my spine a chill
Negative energies all dispelled
Angels surrounding ever so watchful
Windows to the soul wide open
Consuming God’s creation along our journey

When your life is filled with perfect days

it’s hard to pick one to call the best.

I’ve done many things in many ways,

but what day was above all the rest?

When you’ve known someone for years and years

how do you recall when you first spoke?

When you showed me truth and dried my tears

the boundaries of nights and days broke.