Like a wanted woman, I hide in public places One step ahead of recognition, ignoring friendly gestures, leaving confusion in my wake I’m tired of
Author: V.J. Knutson
Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.
Family Portrait
Did you know that life would come to this? Flattened memories pressed between wax, the essence of our efforts forgotten, the dreams, so carefully construed,
Windy
Winds here are unchained – no fear of stagnation – learning to tether myself to uncertainty – relying on instinct to pull through.
Oh Woe, Oh Why?
Why must I suffer acne still? What trick of fate, whose wily will? I am too far over the hill, refuse to take a teenage
Skyward
Even weeds reach for the sky, as if heaven holds a secret, as if liberation lies in the stars and the day’s passage into night
Sleeping Alone
Sleeping alone with so much intrusion – child born of good intentions awash in a trail of barricades I cope, cook up breezes, strike wet
