Every Girl Needs A Cape

I have a small addiction I feel the need to come clean about...I'm obsessed with idiot proof photo editing apps, like the one I used here, PicsArt.  It is an Android app, since my iPod circa 2006 is the only Apple product I own...yeah, yeah I know there are way cooler apps for Apple users, but that is an argument you will have to take up with my husband:) and besides, I really like PicsArt.  It's easy and fun.  My two major requirements when using technology.  However, don't ask me how I came to the finished product you see above as I really have no idea what I'm doing!  And it still produced a great picture...see...idiot proof.  Enjoy.

My Sweet Girl

Villanelle

Light a fire

I want to light it on fire,
watch smoke fall, ash rise.
Char the house of my desire.

It is a metaphor I think,
but no, for it is a real house
and I want to light it on fire.

Cracked foundation thin as wire,
iron bed before the wall red,
char the house of my desire.

Start with gasoline, dried leaves, tire
a crisp night to get a crackle,
I need to light it on fire.

This, my first time to conspire
with eyes that burn to witness
flames take the house of my desire.

Cursed house will play the witches pyre,
unbind my soul from the trunk of hell.
I am going to light it on fire.
Destroy the house of my desire.

This is a fun piece and one of my favorites to visualize.  It is a structured form called a Villanelle, where you have two refrains and two repeating lines.  The first and third line of the first stanza alternately repeat until the last stanza, which includes both repeated lines.  I think I like this form because it's roots lie in song. I would like at some point to put this to music and see where it leads me.

Probably the most famous example of a Villanelle is "Do not go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas.  But my favorite is "Mad Girl's Love Song" by Sylvia Plath.

Eve as Hello Kitty

I don't believe I need to say much about this picture...it makes me so happy.

I miss my bearded man!

Today Eve and I had the chance to get together with an old friend, and meet a few new cool ones, at the Gristmill in beautiful historic Gruene.

I'm a sucker for their chicken fried chicken and massive Texas sized onion rings, and today discovered that they also make a yummy sangria that is served in what else...a lovely little mason jar!  Lunch with two musicians and three labor and delivery nurses made for really interesting conversation while Eve was equally entertained by the beautiful outdoors (you have to eat outside) and the two perfectly unkempt beards (worn by the musicians...not the nurses). My sweet child loves a good beard, we think it's because her Daddy has one; and while lunch was fun, it really made me miss my perfectly bearded man. 

Okay so I'm new to blogging and not quite used to thinking about blogging in my regular life. So it didn't occur to me to take a picture of our motley crew at lunch until I was in the car...whomp. But in honor of my husband, just to be clear who wasn't at lunch but who does have a fabulous beard, I thought I would post a picture of him and Eve!

Hi Daddy we miss you! Matt is currently working in Colorado on a project that I couldn't even begin to explain (without sounding like a complete idiot) so I have just decided that he is probably a spy in the middle of a covert operation and that he may not even be in Colorado...if i had to guess I'd say he's in Panama.  I will have to check to see if he has tan lines when he returns. Just for the record, Matt would make an awesome spy...the CIA should have snatched him up years ago...if they haven't already.

For Eve

There are stars in the sky just for Eve.
Rivers ramble wide just for Eve.
Mountains scrape the sky,
ocean's crashing tides.
And they're all just for Eve

Make me write

A grand champion
hopscotch winner.
I love that plastic trophy.
Dust builds houses
in the cracks of her wings,
on the edges of the plaque
that bears my name
etched into Candyland,
Shoots and Ladders.
So simple.
The sun-lazy on tomboy hair
like hot air balloons over Switzerland
or fluorescent pink icing on birthday cake.
A long summer at the neighborhood pool.
Fruit roll-ups, Capri Sun,
instant brownies, thunder.
Time to get out of the water.

I'll be eleven on
eight eight of eighty-eight
Roller skating, crooked teeth,
Care Bear laces.
Those moments before.
Before the sound of the ocean
would sit on frozen ears
like sirens for help.
She brought the words like a
nightmare found
on burnt parchment paper
under a soggy rock
I trip over
running from tombstones
and tides.
Spiral notebook,
number two pencil.
Make me write.
It was not quite summer
when we lost her
to the muddy coast of Surfside.
And there's nothing I can do
but watch the tide break
on tar tattooed beach
and write-her name
over and over in the sand.

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