The Orchid Journal

In honor of my loving dad's special day, I wrote him a ridiculous poem. As usual, my dad and I were having a silly conversation a week ago, making each other laugh, discussing my not so nice past poetry teacher.... Somehow dad mentioned the phrase, "me and my mollusk" which the alliteration and absurdity of it made us both crack up. Then I said maybe I would use it as a title for a book or better yet a horrible poem, then get it published and make millions just to spite my mean poetry teacher. We chuckled some more and ran with the "Me and my Mollusk" idea. So, this poem is for you, dad. Thank you for the many years of hilarious conversations and tons of love. I am so glad you were born. "Snail Tales" Me and my mollusk stole a painting of Jackson Pollock's while perusing the Guggenheim last May. The painting on display had caused my mollusk much dismay and offended him to his mushy core. The brush strokes could have been made, he whined, with...

For someone who has many diverse talents, I am quite insecure. As a general rule, I can dance, sing, play the cello and recorder, sew, draw, make scultptures or a bowl out of clay, ride and train horses, babysit ten kids at a time and potty train a three year old like an experienced mother, write creatively, handle my finances (when I HAVE finances to handle, that is), clean houses 'til they shine, teach ESL and other subjects, read and analyze a piece of literature or discuss a concept and then write a twenty page analytical essay discussing my argument. Not only that, but I can memorize all of the muscles and bones in the body, research and discuss the hormone-mimic effects of pesticides and antibiotics on the endocrine system, work in a research lab as easily as I can work as a secretary in an office, haul bales of hay on a farm and muck stalls like a pro. I can row a canoe through mild rapids, swim, make people laugh or cry, speak with ease and alacrity before an audience ...

The frog's buldging, liquid eyes stare at me from the surface of the shawdowy pond. Sitting on the roots of a willow tree, enveloped by its weeping branches, I stare back, glad for the creature's company. Since moving to St. Louis, I visit Forest Park at least four times a week, sometimes walking around the zoo, sometimes following the path along the ponds. Always alone, I walk on the enormous hill in front of the art museum or sit by the expansive fountain at its base and swing my feet over the water. I lay in the grass under a tree and stare at the cloud formations in the sky or the birds soaring silently overhead. I talk to God, my constant, invisible company, so evident in the beauty and life around me. In the evenings, I climb the fountain across from the boat house and stand on the edge of the pool watching the kids swim near a sign that says, "No swimming in the Fountain." When the sun goes down, I stand transfixed, staring into the water display that shoot...

Don't label me a dreamer Though my eyes peer above the clouds, My feet are buried in the ground. Don't mistake this reverie as the ravings of a raging fool- Simultaneously, I feel the earth shudder and the nearness of the sun. It's the middle I'm concerned about. You reprimand for lofty dreams and ridicule stability But somewhere in between my head and feet ...lies my heart. Don't label me emotional though I laugh and weep with ease and spread love eagerly as tossing scented petals in a passing breeze. I am reminded of a flower- roots sunk low, gripping dark earth, The bloom's beauty facing endless sky ...and in between, the stem and leaves Without which- the roots, pointless, the petals, impossible. No one begrudges a flower; And how much more intricate am I?

1 Caked with rancid butter, leftover beans from last night's dinner, or soaking in soapy water- Dishes beckon from the bottom of the musty sink Mostly, my mom beckons from the kitchen, or pokes her head in my bedroom doorway and invokes an incessant request, asked of me every night for fifteen years- more like a statement requiring obedience, "You're going to do the dishes tonight, right?" 2 No matter that I am almost quarter of a century in years- It has been my job to wash the dishes every night for as long as I have been able to reach the sink. No matter that I had rarely put up a fight or refused- No matter that I had six hours of homework due the next day- No matter that I prefer to wash dishes in the afternoon- They must be DONE! And done before bedtime! Why? "I don't want to see dirty dishes greeting me in the morning." A familiar, chafing, phrase. 3 Moving into my own house was a freedom I cherished. No one told me when to do the dishes...or h...

This month, one year ago, my brother-in-law Aaron's heart stopped while he was driving in Tucson. He died twice and was resucitated before reaching the hospital. The doctors weren't sure if he would make it and Aaron stayed in the ICU unconscious for a week with tubes and machines strapped all around and in him. There was viable fear of major brain damage or memory loss. We all prayed like crazy and had prayer chains going all over the country. My heart broke for my darling younger sister, Bess, who waited prayerfully by his side until Aaron pulled through. I was, and am still amazed at the strength and courage she displayed during that time. After weeks in the hospital and a couple months of recuperation and surgeries to implant/fix a defibrilator to his heart, Aaron was home free! We all praised God for allowing Aaron to stay with us and to remain the husband of my sister and the father of their little baby boy, Zach. We praise God this month for the fact that we can c...

I moved to Tucson in Fall 2005. I started calling my time in Tucson "my Job years" in 2006. The immense amount of stress, loss, spiritual and physical attack, change and depression I felt by the end of that year made me step back one day and think to myself, "I can now identify with Job. And through all this, I have seen God, like Job did." I even printed out a portion of verses from the book of Job that completely encapsulated my experience. I framed the paper and kept it hanging in my living places for the remaining of my years in Tucson- my bedroom in the house on Adams, bedroom in my parents' house while I was in school and in my kitchen in the Barrio. I packed it carefully into a box to bring with me when I moved to St. Louis and I plan to hang it in my new place here. This framed quote became a daily reminder, not only of what God had shown me through that horrible time in 2006, but what He would continue to show me through the horrible times that were...