Running Water

Laura A. Lord

Our daughter collects boxes.
Big boxes.
Small boxes.
Boxes with purple lids that pop off
or snap open on old brass hinges.
Boxes with black velvet on the sides
and pale blonde ribbons around the top.
Boxes with soft cotton inside
and holes pierced through the lids.
Boxes in pieces,
scattered like cardboard confetti
and poking through the carpet into my toes.

She isn’t here today,
so I’m searching her room for a very specific box.
I’m on my hands and knees
pulling them out from the darkness under her bed.
I’m laying them out on the floor
where I can slip in a single toe,
just to see if I fit.

I need a box I can get inside of.
Something as easy to slip into as the waves at the ocean.
I have asked you to carry me,
to pick me up, hold me close,
but you might…

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On Being A Tugboat

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

By Kirsten Voris

I was going to let this anniversary go unacknowledged.

I must have known it was a big deal. I wrote it in my calendar. One year out. July 26th, the day I took the decision to sit down for a specific amount of time, on specific days every week, to write. No matter how I felt or what else was going on.

Guess what?

For one solid year I have been sitting down, for a specific amount of time, on specific days of the week to write.

I wasn’t going to mention it. But that’s just false modesty. And feeling shy about outing yourself is counterproductive when you’re in the business of writing personal essays.

You might be wondering how I did it.

I had some help. From the Tucson Writer’s Table. What we do, is write. For two hours. Together. At a table. Every Monday. After…

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G2: how to heal


Your body is not small.

The total surface area of the human lung could be spread to the height of a brachiosaurus.

If you want to heal,
you must first
find every bruised place.

Your body is not obvious.
It sheds forty thousand cells
every minute,
and who knows how many of those
were the last to remember
the bruising?

Just in case,
count their ancestors
in your census
of pain.
Even a cell can inherit a wound.

you must tell somebody
where it hurts.

You have to be specific,
and this may take some time.

The human heart beats 100,000 times per day.

If you want to speak to someone about the beat that was broken,

they will want to see it. They will have to search for it.

They will sift through everything you keep in the pockets of those rhythms.

Together, you may find some old…

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And My Bird Can Sing

A Unique Title For Me

I bought Twinkles because I loved her voice, and right away I knew that there was something special about this bird.  The owner of the Pet Shop told me that she was a rare cross breed between a canary and a puffin and she may be the only one of her kind.  I was looking for a canary and I didn’t know anything about a puffin bird, so I asked the guy if puffin birds puff up like blowfish.  He said that would be very cute if they were able to do that, but their name stems from them having a dense and puffy covering of down feathers when they are babies and this keeps them warm when their parents are out hunting fish.  He told me that he had been feeding this crossbreed tadpoles, which it seemed to enjoy and he said that he always kept a fresh supply…

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Imagine My Surprise

A Unique Title For Me

I forgot that my water had been shut off because I was late paying my bill and when I woke up this morning I headed straight for the toilet.  Ranger hates the noise made by the landscapers when they cut the grass, but I never expected to find her hiding inside of the toilet bowl and hey, I had to go really bad.  I filled her treat bowl and showed it to her and she climbed out of the toilet.  This can’t be a cozy place for her, but it is only natural to hide from danger and I guess that cats will hide out any place where they feel protected.  It is scary and confusing for her when she hears the lawnmowers, and even though they come every week, I don’t think that she will ever get used to these scary monsters being outside of her home.

She has always…

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പുലർവെട്ടം 526

Nelson MCBS

{പുലർവെട്ടം 526}
പഴയൊരു കഥയാണ്. ഒരു മൈതാനത്ത് പെട്ടന്നൊരു ദിവസം ഒരു പച്ച ഭൂതം പ്രത്യക്ഷപ്പെടുകയാണ്. ഒരു ടെന്നീസ് പന്തിന്റെ വലുപ്പമേയുള്ളായിരുന്നു ആദ്യം. നോക്കിനിൽക്കെ അത് വലുതാവുകയാണ്. ഗ്രാമീണർ മൈതാനത്തിന് ചുറ്റും തടിച്ചുകൂടി. എനിക്ക് ഇതിലൊന്നും വിശ്വാസമോ ഭയമോ ഇല്ലെന്ന് പറഞ്ഞ് ഒരു ചെറുപ്പക്കാരൻ അതിന്റെ അടുക്കലേക്ക് കുതിച്ച് വാൾ വീശി, പല കഷ്ണങ്ങളായി അതിനെ ഛേദിച്ചു. അടിമുടി ചോരയിൽ കുതിർന്ന് നില്ക്കുന്ന അയാൾ ദേശത്തിന്റെ വീരകഥാപാത്രമായി.
അടുത്ത വർഷം, അതേ കാലം മൈതാനം നിറയെ ഇപ്പോൾ പച്ചഭൂതങ്ങളാണ്. ഇനി തനിക്കൊന്നുമാവില്ല എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞ് ആദ്യത്തെ ചെറുപ്പക്കാരൻ ഭീരുവായി. ഒരു വയോധികൻ മൈതാനത്തേക്ക് വന്നു. അങ്കലാപ്പോ, തിടുക്കമോ ഇല്ലാതെ അതിനെ നിരീക്ഷിച്ചു. പിന്നെ ഒരു പേനാക്കത്തിയെടുത്ത് അതിനെ പലതായി വകഞ്ഞു. ഓരോരോ കഷ്ണങ്ങളായി ആൾക്കൂട്ടത്തിന് വച്ച് മാറി. ട്വിസ്റ്റൊന്നുമില്ല. തണ്ണിമത്തങ്ങയാണത് !
ദിവസത്തിന്റെ അന്ത്യത്തിൽ കലി പോലൊരു ഫലിതമില്ല. അത് നേരത്തേ പിടുത്തം കിട്ടിയവർ ഭാഗ്യവാൻമാർ!
– ബോബി ജോസ് കട്ടികാട്

പുലർവെട്ടം / Pularvettom, Morning Reflection / Meditational Morning Message Series by Fr Bobby Jose Kattikadu OFM Cap. Source: – Official Facebook Page:

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Sanity gets all I’ve got.

The eyes of the storm
Blows my every thought.
So, I’m forced to learn,
And know what I’m not.

I still fear the repetitive,
The near and the tragic.
I still confined to time,
And double yellow lines.

I still steer, not to collide
With an oncoming traffic
In my ever tireless mind.
– I am just trying to live.


— Ricardo Sexton

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Self Detached


self detached

I was grieving for the loss; it’s clear
Your love was a part gift, part theft
A last farewell hug on a sinking pier
A carousel that has no children left

Then I laid there among the carrion
Thinking its flesh would gain flight
I’m the passenger with no carry on
I’m no stranger to strife’s oversight

A guessing still messing me around
As I’m always lost and never found
Itchy, homesick in blues hometown
Chasing a break and clues to perish

Shouting prayers from their religion
A blind shot at glory. A fair decision
But, you belonged somewhere else
Beyond the sum of care for yourself


— Ricardo Sexton

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The Finger


the finger

Since I was a kid they point me it
In Lady’s eyes I can sense: “angst”
I grew up thinking… I was worse!
I’m a thief by who robbed me first

– The pot calls the kettle “black”.
I got to take it back; or I do that,
Or everything would be in vain;
…what My Ancestors bled then.

Where I come from, “ALMOST
Here, everyone dreads my NO!
And everyone expects my YES!

– From the peak of these hills,
So many… plead for my LIFE.
– From the top of skyscrapers,
Plenty… hope for my demise.

I stand. In the eyes of a Mother,
I can understand… my Brothers.
I promise to solve our problems;
and do it in the most honest way;

And yet they will call me: Thief!


— Ricardo Sexton

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No Deal


no deal

– Inventing senses to “Life”
While the sky stays silent
For, “Happiness” is divided
Between hatred & passion

Maybe one day, you may
Still pause for a moment
– To remember… at least
“One Thing” that is gone!

– “Love” is now a business;
Though the deal is wrong
“Peace” won’t sleep a wink
Unable for the above sum

I ask myself… – “Why do I
Tend so much in persists?”
– When no one else wants
To know; or cares it exists


— Ricardo Sexton

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Jack And Jill


jack and jill

– Sanity is exchanged for a Peak
Spoiler alert… “Everybody Dies”
A flower attempts not to speak
And a conspiracy nobody denies

Fear not its cell. Under is above
It still simply a ‘good nightmare’
Sweaty bodies try to sell a love
Leaving a misunderstood stare.

Remain “Free”. Passion is prison
Chains agree; the scent is poison
Look Up. Nonsense brings down.
The hill’s feet are broken crowns


— Ricardo Sexton

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Kaali of Malana

In a small stone tribal hut devoid of any hint of natural light, under an abnormally pitch-black night sky, with the moon and the stars hidden behind a veil of a never seen before black cloud, a mother gave birth to an unnaturally dark-skinned curly-haired girlchild. At 8,600 feet above sea level, isolated from the […]

Kaali of Malana
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