Your faces I do not know
your skins are new
like mine when I was young
when I saw the pale sun
leaning over my home town
felt the sharp tang of winter
that, without mercy,
stripped away my childhood
my school days
my boyhood friends
my first loves and lost loves.
I – left with only what was to come
times and places unknown,
without hearts, warm greetings
absent friendly faces and kind words;
spaces waiting for me
to step into their paths
write their words
let their futures become flesh in me.

When I turn from here
see your faces no more
I will visit again that formless void
of what will be –
that place that is never filled
always empty, hungry, waiting
for me to step into it
name it
tell its story.

Seattle, Washington – January 28, 2014

Claustrophobia readings present local writers in very small settings in Seattle, hence, “claustrophobia.”  I had never read my works before and a dear friend, Rachel, asked if I would read.  I did, was affirmed beautifully, and I remain grateful for the experience.