sunny dayz

I was driving home a few weeks ago on a sunny day, the first in a long while. Outside my window I saw beautiful Irish green grass blanketing the hillside, all under the golden glow of a setting sun. It was so perfect, and as it called out to me, no part of my mind hesitated to follow. I parked my car and walked out smiling like I had just run into a friend I hadn’t seen in ages.


As the warm sunlight flooded my eyes, I saw rainbow streaks and lush green fields, rich brown bark on awakening trees, a perfectly blue sky and felt the soft earth beneath me. I could smell the freshness, and could feel the perfect combination of cool air and yellow sun on my skin. I leaned back into the nascent grass, deeply inhaling, decompressing, deconstructing, melting while the blades rustled in between my finger tips and touched the back of my neck, cradling me as the sun continued to shine.


lake union, bright white light

quiet and tired

dark night during the long ride

a family trip: me, sandwiched between my brother and sister

rental car, middle seat

always the baby

then, bright white light in the corner of my eye

and I saw them

image zips by; it’s coming quickly, so I turn:

bright, smiling, laughing people

I turn my head, and my breath gets quicker

young, white, smiling, bright, happy, put-together people

I turn my head

drink in hand: well-dressed, casual

I turn my head

white walls, big canvas, vast windows, glowing

they’re flying past, escaping my selfish eyes

running away, faster and faster

car moves forward, relentlessly

I’m desperate, and excited– please, please don’t leave

the car continues

and so I cling to the memory as much as I can

eyes widen as I pull apart the shrinking bright white light

as it fades in the distance I refuse to let it leave: stretching, intensifying, spreading it across my consciousness, embracing it with my arms, holding tight, squeezing

hoping that it’s big enough to stick, please stick, please stay

alone, and longing

I watch

it’s so beautiful, I smile

my mind is filled with that bright white light

thrilled, I sigh



I get to the room and sit, it shrinks:


I wheeze out every last bit of air


think about the bright, white, smiling people

think about laughing with the bright, white, smiling people

snap a photo

not of them, of nothing

a sad consolation prize, like any other

wonder who else is contained in the building across the lake, who else is smiling, reveling in the bright white light

turn on the TV, I don’t know the channels

crinkly sheets, also too tight



unsettling emptiness

always fleeting bright white light and a sad mind pulling it closer and closer only for it to pull away and rapidly dissolve

then, sleep




the laundry room

the messy stack of construction paper that my siblings and I have been using on school projects for years

mom’s binders from when she finished her degree at csun

fine mesh and an embroidery hoop for silk screening tina shirts in the 8th grade

all sitting on a wooden wall mounted rack that my grandpa made a few years ago

and outside, the ladder we’ve used to get onto the roof to repair fallen shingles during the summer or access camping gear and the christmas tree stand with

the dense patch of deep green ivy I’d let my chickens prance around in and scour for bugs

seen through the window of a door I’ve actually never once seen opened

in the top right corner the sparkle of glossy leaves belonging to an oak tree that has been growing and growing for as long as I can remember.