Feeling Left Out

I grew up in the farmland shadows of Silicon Valley.

No cell phone, no computer, only friends had those things.

I graduated college without a computer.

I used pens and notebooks to write notes during lectures.

The world spun too fast on its axis for me to catch up while I worked on my inner life.

This poem is dedicated to people like me who feel left out.


All I have our words and thumbs,

And they fall short.

The days of newsprint on my fingers have vanished.

Now,  papers are good for lining bird cages and making papier mache.

It is a dusty game where I don’t know my place anymore.

Memories are all I have,

And they fall short like time and place and setting.



Love Squirrels

What’s that rustling in the bushes in the backyard?

It’s a little grey squirrel scratching her ears.

She flies onto the statue of the marble deer and tiptoes over the antlers and stops on top of the deer’s head.

Then, she picks a bright red begonia petal and climbs the pine tree with the loose petal between her lips.

Her companion hops over the fence and joins her, but she doesn’t want to argue today.

They have fought many times before on this same tree.

A moment of peace for these two love squirrels on a February afternoon.   



My scar tells the story of a baby born with her heart on the wrong side. I was born unlovable, choking with the umbilical cords wrapped around my neck. It was obvious something was wrong with me.

They asked if a female doctor could operate. Luckily, my mom said yes. It took a professional to move my heart to the right side and make room for my one lung to grow.

Now, I have a long deep tilted scar of a line on my abdomen that looks like a magic trick gone wrong.

My scar hasn’t diminished as I have aged. It has continued to grow from my baby body to my adult body.

Now, I have this scar as a reminder that my heart is on the right side and to follow it.