My daughter asked me my superpower and origin story. The first thing that came to mind was a ball, that came into being by the beauty of the Aurora Borealis when I was just two years old, my ball, therefore my super power. I roll it anywhere, and things get better. Real things. The sick are healed, the broken mended, the confused clear. Magnificence and wonder color the fix.

I don’t have this power, but maybe I can roll something out there, that encapsulates a bit of something beautiful, magical and magnificent. Maybe that will help heal, maybe that will fill the words with more than just letters. Maybe my mortal self can remain jangled in my plain clothes, and some power beyond me can roll this through my hands when needed. maybe that will be good.

The earlier lament

how distracted i am by words. how much i strive to find the perfect ones to move mountains.

but, words are not deeds, they are not trees.

they are not full of anything, except letters, and those ideas we share about their meaning. food for trolls, filling for inspiring flight

there are forces afoot, who are dismantling the common threads of thinking.
there are forces afoot, who would rather us argue, than act. rather us outrage than flourish.

there are pink ones and white ones and orange ones and they treat each other, with riches of avarice and kid gloves. because they are soft.

I am hard. Anxious gongs go off in my body and words wrangle comfort from my grasp.

I am Hawaii, warned and primal. Raw and real. Faked and furious.