Powerlessness Through a Lens of Recovery
I participated in a writing workshop where I was sparked to write about a word in the 12 steps in a genre of my choice. I chose the word POWERLESS in the form of an acrostic prose poem. Instead of writing about my experience with being powerless, I re-framed the...
Photo of Daddy-Monster
I see an old photograph, daddy-Monster when he was about 25, standing with two of his brothers-in-law, dressed sharply, with confidence and self-assurance. I see a dad who’s not a dad. I see an explosive volcano. I see a raging...
Unmanagable Life
U is not part of my storyNumerous lessons I have been dealtMy words are all my ownA whole lifetime of pain I have felt.Nevertheless seeds I have sewn.A keen insight happens each dayGoing to meetings and letting goEverything becomes easier my wayAll I need to do is...
My Right Leg Tells Me a Story
I had a dream last nightI am dreaming latelyafter none for most of my lifeexcept for “stuck feet” dreams, repeatedly, the same dreamagain and again. Go back to sleep, it runs again.Thankfully those are gone now.The door opened around being the speaker for a speaker...
Powerless
Paul is my nameOh what a recovery journey this has beenWillingness to heal from my childhood woundsEverything becomes a bit more clear since then.Reparenting brings me new insightsLooking at how I now look at things differentlyEveryone makes me feel less aloneSo much...
Reflections of a childhood
Houdini books Fruit brandy brewing in my closetWhy not in their closet?Floor heater gratebranding my little brother’s feetMirrors in the hall and bathroomtoo high up to see meMirror in my room, stay awaySewing classesCheerleaders blaspheming and...
The Girl Who Loved Her Father Like Salt
A story from my childhood... This was a book that was read many, many times as a child.Mom read books with my older brother and me, we were on the floor.We did not connect with each other or her, we did not look at the pictures.We did not touch.The father asked how...
Joy in the Brushstrokes
Last week, someone asked me what I do for a living. I braced myself and said, “I write for a consulting firm.” I sensed their stilted reaction and backpedaled. “I’m just glad I get paid to write.” They cleared their throat. “I knew someone with a 9 to 5 once.” He knew...
Acknowledging Racial Trauma
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Lush Life
In college, I majored in Voice, but my studies took a backseat to a steady diet of cocktails and cigarettes. The school’s music program had a distinguished opera faculty that took the train from Manhattan to Poughkeepsie each week to give us lessons. I didn't care...