Hitting the High Notes


I write younger than I am, but my voice

cracks on the high notes now.

I don’t know how much longer I can fake it.

I wish I had a daughter, who would sit and

listen, and forgive me in the

way only daughters can.

Instead, I sit with my laptop

facing a bank of windows with a

view of a mountain,

snow flurries in the sun.
I encounter many me’s
in various stages of becoming.

It’s as though I enter
a Greek amphitheater
in ancient Corinth,
my many selves sit on the old
blocks of stone, twitching.
I point to one and say
“OK, come on down.
Today’s your turn to whine about your life.”

We all lean in, ready to pounce,
evaluating the honesty, the growth,
knowing that one of us
will be judged next
and found wanting.

3 Replies to “Hitting the High Notes”

  1. depends on the daughter;)
    your words are worthy of a glorious tragedy – full of introspection that can only arrive when one is fully honest and willing to learn beyond what they already don’t know – the earmark of a wise man:)
    happy new year’s, dear friend
    here’s to 2017 and writer’s block🎉

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Well, you know me. “hope for the best, plan for the worst.” I’d hope for this kind of daughter. I needs me some forgivin’ Or a young woman to whisper encouraging things to make me forget. 😉

      Is “writer’s block🎉” a writer’s block party? You have a very funny mind. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. the young gals scream, we old gals have learned the art of whispering – ’tis much more effective😉
        a New Year must be banged in with party o’plenty🎉I’m hoping to drown my soggy block before midnight tomorrow🤗
        I hope you are planning a grand welcome for Miss 2017!
        …to wordful wanderlusting in your mancave…
        here’s to happiness and health all around!

        Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.

Errant Satiety

seeking sublime surrender


“The lyfe so short, the craft so long to lerne." --Chaucer


Verba volant, scripta manent !


In happiness my words I lack, in grief they overflow.

The Wild Heart of Life

Creative Nonfiction & Poetry



%d bloggers like this: