even the chairs feel alive

 

Sunday • April 19 • 2026

Daisy sleeping in the sun

blueberry skies

green mulberry tree, wide leaves

lemon trees + pots of succulents

birds + songs

bare feet on cool bricks

even the chairs feel alive. speak then.

• • • • • • • • • •

notice the peace here, woman.

notice how light hits the sunken brick by the rocking chair

notice the sounds of your husband in the kitchen

through the open door and scent of lemon

spoon drawer opens, shuts

stir the coffee, sugar, milk

hum of plane, bird chatter

lemons say, 

hang in

relax

you'll be picked 

or drop to the ground some day,

but not today.

namaste, lovelies.

xo B

still back there

 

February 27 • 2026

On the table are tulips, a gift from Jennifer, the cashier at Trader Joe's. 

Through the kitchen window, birds at the feeder.

finch 

wren. 

sometimes the woodpecker.

Fat squirrel watching from the tilted wooden fence. 

Beyond that Olivia and Makayla with their Dad, starting their morning walk to school, past the sage and cacti and pillowy lavender bushes in front of Anne's house.

Looking east, there's snow and mountains and Minnesota. There's Renee Good. Dead body slumped in the front seat of her car, shot by a rabid ICE thug. 

It was a Wednesday morning. She'd just dropped her six year old son at school.

She said, "It's okay, Dude. I'm not mad at you."

Renee was smiling.

He shot her in the face.

He said, "Fucking bitch." 

She was executed in broad daylight.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

I'm still back there.