Posted in Passages


Long before Bridezilla
brides were Bridezillas
it was, and so was she.
Finger wagging certainty knew what she wanted –
especially this
absolutely no children.
Excluded –
don’t even think of asking.
She said a wedding is no place for those lacking awareness,
they fidget
they call out
they talk
they distract.
It was her day and her call… so just get over it.

A decade and two children later
a good friend sends an invite to her nuptials
gold lettered RSVP
at the bottom no children please.
“ Who does she think she is,
telling me my children can’t go.
Well I damn well won’t either.” And she didn’t.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.